Destined to Die?
by Syri-LLC
Summary: Just days before his 23 birthday, Chris falls ill with a mysterious sickness. As his condition continues to worsen despite all attepmts to cure and heal, his family wonders: Is Chris destined to die at 23?
1. Chapter 1

Hello people! You may not recognize me, but some of you may have read another story I wrote under a different name. I have no problems revealing the other name to those who e-mail me and wish to know, except for the person that I'm trying to avoid... yes, may sound mean, but the only reason I set up another account is so I can write my stories and not get picked on by...that person.

ANYwho, this is my second story, and is the result of those damn plot bunnies! I hope you enjoy!Takes place in changed future, right before Chris's 23 birthday. Really, it a tortue-poor-innocent-Chris fic, cause seriously, who DOESN'T read em?

Chris woke up that very early that morning with a churning pain in his stomach, reminding him of the night a few years ago when his friend Eric and swiped a bottle of Vodka from his Mom. But Chris didn't remember going partying last night, or for quite a while actually. He'd learned his lesson.

He turned over on his side with his arms wrapped around his middle, trying to will the pain away; it didn't work. Drawing his knees up, he tried to remember if he'd eaten anything that day that would have made him feel like this. Breakfast, lunch, dinner... nope, nothing.

He took a deep breath, to settle his nauseousness, but it only made it worse. Much worse. Throwing back the covers he got shakily to his feet and, fast as he could, headed for the bathroom, where he was soon violently ill.

10 minutes later, after vowing never EVER to eat anything again, Chris hobbled over to the sink and turned the water on, splashing it in his face, savoring the cold water against his hot skin.

Damn, he thought, leaning on the sink for support, his legs threatening to give out. I'm gonna end up sick on Tuesday. Happy frickin birthday to me.

Chris hated being ill, more then most normal people did. He hated having to rely on his parents or brother, not being able to take care of himself. He'd always been very independent and wilful, though his mother wanted nothing more than to spoil and smother him.

Turning off the tap, Chris turned out the light and headed back to bed, swaying slightely as he went.

"Chris, wake up, or Mom's gonna give your bacon to the cat,"

Chris's only reply was a deep, noncommital groan. Did Wyatt have to be so damned LOUD?

Burrowing himself deeper into his blankets, shivering, Chris tried to drift back to sleep. God, so what if it was November? Did it have to be so damned cold?

"Chris, dude, wake up!" Wyatt's voice was now much closer. Like, right next to his head.

Startled, Chris jerked awake, sitting up in bed. He immediately wished he hadn't, though, as he was suddenly struck by wave after wave of dizziness, making it seem as though the entire room was spinning around him. Clutching his blankets as though to anchor himself to the bed, he cautiosly moved his head in search of his brother.

Wyatt stood a few feet away from Chris's bed, with a look os annoyance at Chris's intent to stay asleep, and amusement at his fright. Little witch, Chris though blythly.

"Whatdyouwant?" Chris mumbled, his head aching as his stomach had done earlier.

"Come on, bro. It's almost ten, and Mom's gonna kick your ass if you don't get downstairs, like, five minutes ago!" he whacked Chris good-naturedly on the head as he orbed out, causing Chris to see stars. Groaning, his muscles aching, he crawled out of bed, and got dressed. It took him much longer then usual, as he had to stop and rest every few minutes and catch his breath.

He was really starting to get worried now. He couldn't remember feeling this sick in a long time, and if history was apt to repeat itself, he'd get worse before he got better...

Or maybe I'm just a wimp, he accused himself as he ran a brush through his thick hair. Probably just coming down with the flu or something. I'll feel better once I eat...

Taking one more moment to rest, Chris made his way down the hall, wavering a bit. One step at a time, he made it down the stairs without falling, though his head throbbed painfully with each step. And he was tired, so tired.

The aroma of his mothers cooking wafting from the kitchen purked him up a bit, as he headed to breakfast.

Dad and Wyatt where already finishing up their food. Wyatt worked at a computer repair shop in a town an hour or so from San Francisco, but usually drove back every other weekend, mostly because he couldn't boil water without burning it, so he got hungry.

Chris, on the other hand, who was a senior in college, was in his element in the kitchen. He'd spent his afternoons as a child with his Mom, baking, and he'd quickly picked it up. My cooking still doesn't compare to Moms, though, he thought as he entered the kitchen.

"Morning Sweerie," Piper called over her shoulder, smiling.

"Mornin..." he responded, poring himself a cup of coffe. Or at least, he TRIED to pour himself a cup of coffe, but his hands where trembling to violently, he could hardly hold on to his cup, and ended up dribbling quite a bit on the counter. Still, he tried to downplay his weakness. He didn't want his family to notice that he was sick. Mom would get all worried and bothered, Ddad would send him straight up to bed and keep him there for a week, and Wyatt would have a grand old time teasing his baby brother.

No, much better to act as though he never felt better.

Making his way over to an empty seat at the table, he sat down gratefully, sipping his coffee.

"Morning Chris," his father said from behind his newspaper. "Sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah, Dad. Great." He lied. After he had gone back to bed, he'd drifted in and out of sleep, hardly getting any rest at all.

"How many eggs do you want Peanut?"

Chris, who had zened out a bit, was startled by his mothers voice so close to him.

"Huh? Uh, oh, just one, thanks," he responded, trying to sound awake and flahing his mother what he thought was a winning smile.

Piper, however, saw right through his cover. Setting Chris's plate down on the counter, she walked back over to him and got down at eye level.

"Are you feeling OK, Sweetie?" she asked, concerned, as she tried to feel his temperature. But Chris moved away from her hand.

"I'm fine Mom, really." he replied, taking another sip of his coffee, most of which ended up on the table.

"Are you sure, hon? You look kinda pale..."

"She's right son." said Leo, who was now looking intently at Chris from accross the table, his paper folded in his lap.

Shit. So much for my cover...

"I told you, I'm fine really. Maybe I just didn't sleep as well as I thought I had."

But there is no use in lying to your mother, and Chris knew that. Putting one hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving away, she pressed her other hand to his forhead.

"Oh my God, Chris!" she yelled, now feeling his cheek. "You're burning up!"

"It's nothing," he insisted, shaking away his mothers hand as he struggled to stand up. "It's probably just a cold...I'm fine, REALLY" and with that he started to walk out of the kitchen, maybe go get some sleep... It was nothing, he kept telling himself, though the throbbing in his head and the wild spinning-twisting-turning of the room around him argued different.

He made it to the doorway without stumbling, but was suddenly overcome with vertigo so intense that he had to hang on to the doorway to keep from falling.

"Chris?" he heard someone behind him say, though they sounded so much farther away then the kitchen.

Letting go of the doorframe, he took four more shaky steps forward before he had to grab hold of the wall for support. He waited a moment for the dizziness to pass, but it didn't, it only got worse, and he realized several thing at that moment...

That he could no longer tell up from down, left from right...

That it was a lot darker inside then it should be at ten a.m...

That someone behind him was shouting his name loudly, but he couldn't bring himself to answer...

That the ground was a lot closer than it had been a minute ago...

Short, but just consider it a Teaser! Please review, you know you wanna!


	2. Chapter 2

Yippy! I so happy! Thank you to ALL the reviews!

A/N This chapter mentions a book, From the Corner of his Eye, by Dean Koontz. Koontz is my all-time favorite author, and FTCOHE is one of my favorite books!

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"Chris? Chris, sweetie, wake up!"

"Come on Chris, open your eyes..."

Chris could hear voices around him somewhere, talking loudly. He could understand every word they were saying, but they made no sense, meant nothing to him, like when he would zone out during geometry. He knew the teacher was talking about vertexes and rays, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Besides, he was tired. So cold, so tired... where was he?

"Chris, honey come on, open your eyes for Mama,"

Mama...Mom? What was she doing her?. Where ever "here" was.

"Chris, please, you gotta wake up!"

Wyatt...that was Wyatt's voice. Why did he need to get up anyway? It was Saturday, no classes... and he just wanted to drift back to sleep...

But he couldn't. The throbbing pain in his head vanquished all prospects of sleep.

Slowly, and with obvious effort, Chris half opened one eye, to get a view of his surroundings, but everything he could see was blurry and distorted. He closed his eyes again, then reopened them. His world was in sharper focus this time around; he could make out three shapes hovering around him. Two tall, one shorter...

"Mom?" he mumbled, his voice slurring.

"Shhh...SH! He's waking up!" His Mom's voice was sharp, but quiet. The tone in which she spoke next was much softer though;

"How're you feeling sweetie?"

Chris just gave her a blank look through his half-opened eyes. How was he feeling? Well, let's see. Headache, backache, cold, tired...What in the name of God happened?

"Chris, son, can you hear me?" Leo spoke next, concerned about his son's lack of attentiveness. Seeing as how his voice was closet to his ear, Chris assumed he was the fuzzy blob on his right. He wasn't as fuzzy as he was a moment ago, though.

"Dad?" Chris confirmed, speaking to the still-sorta-fuzzy blob which now bore a great resemblance to his Dad.

"Yeah, it's me. Can you hear us?"

"Yeah.," he responded, then asked "What happened?" His voice was still wavery, though he was more coherent. He'd figured he was laying down somewhere, most likely the living room, but what the hell...?

"Don't you remember?" Piper asked, more worried then ever. She was sitting on the couch beside her son, his hand clasped in hers. God, she couldn't remember being more scared then she was as she saw her baby hit the ground...

"If I remembered," Chris replied thickly. "I wouldn't have asked."

Under any other circumstances, Leo would have found his son's sarcasm witty. But he, too, was extremely worried about Chris.

"You fainted, Chris. Stood up to leave the kitchen, faltered, then you just...collapsed! Wyatt tried to heal you of course, but apparently the Powers that Be didn't think he should..."

"Scared the shit out of all of us!" Wyatt squeaked. He'd been more or less silent through Chris's waking, and now that Chris had a good look at him, he noticed that he looked awfully pale.

"I'm sorry," Chris mumbled, mostly cause that was all he trusted himself to say. Because at the moment, he was mentally beating himself up. He fainted? Just up and passed out? God, what a wimp! He couldn't walk ten feet without collapsing?

"Why'd I pass out?" he asked as an afterthought. Maybe if there was an honest to goodness reason, he could have an excuse for being so weak...

Piper, however, found his question to be the source of more worry to her already over-loaded emotional weight.

Gently brushing the hair out of his eyes, she asked tenderly. "What's the last thing you remember, hon?"

After thinking a minute, which only incresed his headache, he responded, "Wyatt yelling at me to get up..."

"But that was over an hour ago!" Wyatt cried, now more worried then ever.

Piper looked from her son's face to her husbands, a questioning look in her eyes. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he remember anything since he woke up?

Leo furrowed his brow, his eyes meeting Chris's nervous gaze. Picking up Pipers habit, he brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his son's eyes.

"You're running a pretty high fever," he said, keeping the same soft tone of voice. "And you hit your head really hard when you fell. That could explain why you're a bit out of it right now. You should just rest for a while, though, and..."

"No!" Chris cut him off, suddenly very alert. He might not be feeling 100, but he didn't need to spend the day in bed. There was a lot he could get done, and besides, he didn't want his family worrying about him.

"I'm fine, really I am. It;s nothing, I probably just need to eat". With that, he pushed himself up on the couch, set on getting up and doing...something. But his mother was having none of it. Standing and pressing her hands against his shoulders, she forced him back down.

"Listen to your father, Chris, and stop being a martyr. You're not well, and you need to rest up."

"I feel fine, Mom," he lied. "And I don't need to rest, I'm not tired!"

"Please, Chris. Just lay down for a while. You took a hard fall, and you where out for quite a while. Just take it easy..."

"I don't need to take it easy, Mom!" His temper was stating to ignite, and that was only gonna make things more difficult. Wriggling out from under his mothers hold, he managed to sit up again, and swung his feet over the edge of the couch. "I'm fine, see?" He claimed, standing up and walking a few feet. But even such a simple task was taking it's till on his weakened body, and his family could see it. Chris was trying too hard to put on an act, a strong front, and it was only making it worse.

Chris had to blink rapidly to try and clear his vison, which was blurring rapidly. He felt dizzy again, too, and suddenly he had the feeling that he was about to throw up again...

And still he wouldn't admit that he was sick. Taking another step towards the doorway, he stumbled, swayed, and almost fell again. But Leo, who had been watching Chris carefully, worried, rushed forward when he saw his son falter, and caught him in his arms as he fell.

"Woah, woah! Take it easy, buddy. Calm down," Leo soothed, easing Chris to the floor, still cradling him in his arms. Chris was almost completely out of it, and didn't try to fight. His head swam, and he had to keep his eyes closed to stop from getting motion sickness.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I just..."

"Don't even go there, Christopher," said his mother, who's voice was harsh out of fear. Her baby, her little boy was sick, and he just kept fighting them. And now he was trying to apologize for being ill? "You have nothing to be sorry for," she carried on, her voice now much softer. "It's not your fault you feel this way. Just stop trying to push us away, baby."

"She's right Chris. Stop trying to act tough and like you can't be beaten, and take it easy for a while."

Chris at the moment wanted nothing more then to stay where he was; his fathers arms around him, keeping him safe, his mother and brother beside him... And he was sooo tired. Maybe a little rest would be alright...

"Ok." he whispered softly, already half asleep. He'd fought his battle and lost, but a long nap sounded like a good consolation prize.

Leo shifted his hold on his son, wrapping his arm around the boys back. Wyatt, seeing his fathers intentions, came forward and did the same on Chris's right. Carefully, they stood up, Chris supported between them: Leo hadn't trusted Chris's strength to walk on his own. Slowly they walked over to the couch, easing Chris down. Wyatt gently pulled his arm out from behind his barely-awake brother, and Leo leaned him back onto the couch, resting his head on a throw pillow. Piper, who hadn't trusted herself to speak for several minutes, took a blanket from the back of the couch, and pulled it down over Chris, who was shivering slightely. Tucking him in, she looked down at her little boy; he was extremely pale, with patches of red on his cheeks and brow, a result of his high temperature. His eyes where closed, but he had dark cicles underneath them.

"Just go to sleep baby" was the last words he heard before he drifted off.

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Chris woke up several hours later, feeling...well, not great, but better. Good enough to ACT like he felt great, at least.

He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, thopugh it really didn't matter much. What DID matter, at the moment at least, was that he was hungry. He never had a chance to eat breakfast, after all.

Slowly, he began to sit up, which wasn't such an easy task. His head didn't hurt as much, and the room decided to stay still for once, but his arms and back aches horribly, and he realized he was much weaker then he would care to be.

Still, being as stubborn as he was, Chris managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He would have attempted to stand, but was interrupted by his mothers entrance into the living room.

"Hey, sweetie!" she said as she caught sight of him. At first she wondered whether or not he should be sitting up, but then decided that at least he was in bed, more or less. She made her way over to the couch, sitting herself down on the edge, beside Chris.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, gently stroking his cheek, which was still too warm to be healthy.

"I'm alright," he assures her, though it was quite obvious that he wasn't, and that she didn't believe his claim.

"Can I get you anything hon?" Piper continued. It killed her to see one of her children sick, and she wanted to do anything she could to help him feel better, or be more comfortable. "Water, juice, something to eat?" she tempted.

"I am kinda hungry..." Chris said off-handedly. Which was, for the most part true. Though the more appropriate word would have been "starving"

Piper smiled warmly at her son. "Well, it's good you still have an appetite. I'll see what I can fix up. And stay down!" she added in a more harsh tone to Chris, who had been trying to pull the covers back and get off the couch. "I'll bring your lunch to you, hon."

"I can eat at the table," Chris argued.

"No, Chris. You're not getting out of bed. Cause then I'd get worried, and get an ulcer, and you don't wanna worry your old Mom, do you?" It was a trick that always worked on Chris. He wanted to get up and act well so he wouldn't worry his family, so Piper would tell him how doing just that would worry her even MORE.

"You play dirty, Mom," Chris scowled, though his mouth turned up slightely at the corners.

"Hey, it worked," Piper agreed. "Now, you lay back down-Lay Back DOWN- and I'll get you something to eat. And with that, she left the room.

Chris did as he was told...more or less. Leaning back against the arm rest, Chris closed his eyes, trying to ease the throbbing in his head by rubbing his temples, to no avail. He must have nodded off again, for a while at least, because the next thing he heard was;

"Chris?"

Startled, Chris jerked, opening his eyes wide and found Leo kneeling next to him. Apparently, Piper had told him that Chris was awake. Or had been

"Your Mom told me you where up," Bingo, Chris thought. "You doing ok?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm fine."

But Leo, naturally, didn't take Chris's word for it.

"You have a headache?" he asked, having seen the way Chris held his temples.

Chris just shrugged. "It's not that bad..."

Leo raised his palm to feel Chris's brow, and sighed. "I'll get you some Aspirin or something," he told Chris, before orbing out. He didn't have time to hear Chris's protests.

Less then a minute later, Leo orbed back in with a bottle of Advil and a glass of water. God, Chris thought closing his eyes again, I thought I got my worry from Mom!

When Chris opened his eyes once more, he turned his head to see his father shaking an old fashioned glass thermometer.

"Dad," Chris moaned. "I don't.."

"Shush," Leo responded, a little perturbed by his sons chronic stubbornness. "Just let me take your temperature."

"Dad, I don't think..."

"Chris" Leo said testily, in a tone Chris new meant trouble. And so he relented, sulking.

Taking advantage of Chris's inability to argue, Leo rolled the sleeve of Chris shirt up to take his pulse. Chris simply rolled his eyes.

"Well, now we know how to get you to shut up once in a while," Leo chuckled, his attempt at humor being met with a look from Chris that just dripped with sarcastic wit.

Leo's bantering stopped abruptly, however, when he saw that Chris's fever was almost 103.

"Oh God, Chris..." Leo murmured, his anxiety increasing.

"What?" Chris asked, now that he was able to speak.

At that moment, however, Piper entered the living room, carrying a bowl of hot soup and crackers on a tray. When she first walked in, she masked her ever-present worry with a warm demeanor, which faltered immediately when she saw the look on Leo's face.

"Whatsamatter?" she asked, setting the tray down on the coffee table. Leo bit his bottom lip, passing the thermometer to Piper, who had about the same reaction as her husband.

"OhmigodChris!" she breathed, speaking all in one word, as she did when she panicked. "No wonder you aren't feeling well.

Chris clenched his jaw, but said nothing. He could figure out by now why his parents where having a hissy fit, and it just made him feel worse for causing it.

Leo opened the bottle of aspirin on the coffee table, shook two pills out onto his palm, and handed them to Chris with the glass of water.

"These should lower your fever, and get rid of your headache," he said gently as Chris swallowed both pills. Piper picked up the tray and settled it on Chris's lap, balancing it so that it wouldn't spill.

"You'll feel better after you eat something Chris." she said in the same hushed voice, which Chris found very annoying. And depressing, actually. It was the kind of soft, fake-cheerful, barely-audible whisper people used to speak to someone on their death bed.

However, Chris didn't have any complaints. He was starving, and his Mom was a great cook. Every time he or Wyatt got sick, she made a thick rich chicken soup with carrots and celery. It usually took her over an hour to make, which gave him an idea of how long he had been asleep.

Crumbling a few crackers into his soup, he rased his spoon to eat, then noticed his parents still sitting beside him, watching him intently.

"I can feed myself, you know." he stated simply. Leo went rather red, and decided that he would go do the dishes, ruffled Chris's hair, and left. Piper, however, had no notion to leave. Indeed, she moved closer to Chris, wrapping her arms around him and planting a warm kiss on his cheek.

"I love you sweeite," she told him, still holding him tightly.

Had it been any other day, and had he been feeling as good as he pretended to, Chris would have just returned the words and tried to move away. But sitting there, his mother holding him tightly, he realized he didn't want her to go, not at the moment at least. He would never admit it to a single soul, living or dead, but he wanted his mother to be there.

Turning his head and nestling into her shoulder, he murmured, "I love you too Mom."

She held him for a minute more, before giving him a strong squeeze and letting go.

"Eat your soup before it gets cold hon." she said softly. "I'm going to make a couple phone calls. You just holler if you need anything, ANYTHING, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Mom. Got it." She too, ruffled his hair and left the room.

After she was out of ear shot, Chris sighed loudly. 'Going to make a couple phone calls'. Chris knew what she meant; she was going to call her sisters. Chris loved his aunts, and missed them terribly; Phoebe lived in Nevada with her fiancee Alex, and Phoebe was all the way in Maryland, with her husband Jason and her five kids, all girls. But Chris knew what would happen. Paige would immediately orb over to the manor, Phoebe in tow. Paige would probably just tease him like Wyatt, but Aunt Phoebe would fuss almost as much as Mom!'

Oh well, Chris though wryly, taking another sip of soup. Maybe if I tell them I'm contagious, they won't get too close...

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"Damn, Chris! It's almost four o'clock, and you're STILL not up?" laughed Wyatt as he walked into the living room, where Chris, Piper and Leo where all sitting. Chris was working his way through a Dean Koontz novel, and Piper and Leo where talking about this-and-that, or, at least, they where pretending to talk about this and that. But each one of them kept steeling anxious glances at Chris, who would have been up and about hours ago if his parents weren't sitting beside him, keeping him down. And Chris, of course, was none too happy about this.

"I feel Ok, Dad!" he'd argued, after Leo found him walking down the hallway to the kitchen to put his soup bowl away.

"I don't care, Chris!" Leo had responded, setting the bowl on the hall table and guiding Chris back to the couch. "You still have a fever, and you need to lay down! When you are REALLY better, you can get up. But if you keep wandering around now, you're only going to get worse!"

After a bit more arguing (and stern words from Piper) Chris relented, and settled down on the couch with an old copy of From the Corner of his Eye.

"Bite me, Wyatt!" Chris chuckled, marking his place in his book. Wyatt had gone into town to buy groceries for Piper, since she had been very reluctant to leave Chris alone. She thought she was just being a good mother. Wyatt though she was going to give herself an aneurysm.

As he sauntered over-exaggeratingly to the couch, he noticed that Chris was still looking kinda pale, and he was sweating a little. Wyatt chewed his bottom lip; he might tease his little brother a lot, but he still loved him so much, and he, like his parents, couldn't stand to see him like this. After all, he was (as Wyatt loved to remind him) the baby of the family.

Wyatt purposely himself down right on Chris's legs, and Chris whacked him with his hardcover. Feigning pain, Wyatt acted extremely hurt.

Oh come on, bro Why you gotta be like that? Yo could really hurt a guy with those books!

"Keep pushing, me, Wy. I have War and Peace upstairs!" Chris shot back, grinning.

"Big deal. I could still kick your ass," Wyatt said, looking like he was about to pounce.

"I'm sure you could, Wyatt. But let's not have a wrestling match until Chris is feeling better," Piper warned, because she knew that they most certainly would try, and that was the LAST thing Chris needed right now.

"You're such a kill-joy!" Wyatt whined, with a note of sarcasm that bore Chris's trademark.

Chris started to laugh at his brothers comment, but it soon turned into a couching fit.

Leo, who's heart dropped down several feet, rushed forward, grabbing Chris by the shoulders ans sitting him up, so he could get some air.

Coughing violently, Chris gripped Leo's arm tightly, his body shaking.

"It's Ok, son. Calm down, just try to relax." Leo told Chris, as he gently rubbed his back.

A few moments later, Chris's breathing started to even out, though each breath he took seemed to rattle in his chest.

"Here, sweetie, drink this," Piper murmured, pressing a glass of water into Chris's hand, and helped him tip it down his throat.

Chris closed his eyes, taking deep breathes between sips of water. Piper looked over at Leo, eyes wide with fright. Leo met her gaze, not knowing what to say.

"Uh, Dad?" Wyatt spoke up, his voice wavering.

"What is it, Wyatt?" Leo asked, his voice also not so steady.

"I think we need to get Chris to the hospital," he croaked.

"What? Why?" Piper gasped, her voice shrill. Chris wasn't THAT sick...was he?

Wyatt, however, couldn't seem to find his voice. Wordlessly, he gestured to the shoulder of Leo's shirt, which was spattered with bright red blood.

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I love cliffe's, don't you? Lol. Anyway, I hope you like! And, please understand, I lovelovelove Chris, I just also love to torture him...


	3. Chapter 3

Yay! Me again! Hope you liked chapter two (I know PrueTrudeau did!) Cause it was the longest chapter I EVER wrote! Anywho, Prue was a bit worried that I was rushing things a bit, but don't worry! I'm not! And there is also a very touching (I think) WyattChris moment in this chapter. ENJOY

A/N Last chapter I said it was Saturday. It's now Friday. Why? Cause it's my story, and I say so! Lol. No, it's because Prue was right, I needed more time!

As for the upcoming mention of Chris's gymnastics team; there is no rhyme or reason to it, I just thinks gymnasts are sexy... ;)

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Leo froze. Oh God, was the only thought running through his head over and over again. Oh God.

"Dad?" Wyatt spoke up, now worried about his fathers semi-comatose state.

Shaking his head, trying to clear his thought, Leo simply said "I agree."

"NO!" Chris shouted firmly. Leo and Wyatt whipped around to see Chris propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand at his throat, pressing tenderly as though it hurt. "No."

"Chris, please listen..." Leo tried to calm down his very agitated son.

"No. I'm not going." Chris replied. His tone was softer now, but stubborn and icy. "I'm not going."

Chris had his reasons to be so set on staying home. He'd been in the hospital once, when he was 13. He had fallen from the balance beam during his gymnastics class, and had given himself a concussion. He hated the experience, and had no intention on repeating it.

Piper was trying futuliy to get Chris to lie back down. "Sweetie, you're really sick, maybe it would be best to take..."

"I said NO!" Chris shouted, though he immediately regretted it. Wincing visibly, he bent his head forward, trying to ease the pain in his throat.

Leo noticed it immediately, and naturally, was worried.

"Is your throat hurting?" he asked, in hope of changing the subject for enough time to convince Chris to cooperate.

Chris, who was thankful for the shift in conversation, shrugged. "Not much, really. It's just kinda sore right hear," he gestured to the right of his throat.

Leo gently cupper Chris's chin in his hand, tilting his face towards the light.

"Open your mouth," he instructed softly, and Chris obeyed without protest. His thorzt was raw and red, from his heavy couching, no doubt, but there was a dark crimson patch on the left side. It appeared to be bleeding.

"Chris, I think yo may have tore your throat a bit," he said slowly, his panic slowly ebbing away.

"Could that have been why he was coughing up blood?" Piper asked softly, her hopes up. Maybe he wasn't as sick as she thought...

"It's likely," Leo replied, with a mix of relief that Chris wasn't going to choke in front of them, and a bit of embarrassment at his rash assumptions.

"Good," Chris said airily when he had his jaw back. "Then I get to stay home?"

"It just makes it all the easier for me to pick on you, Chrissy!" Wyatt laughed, chucking a pillow a his baby brother. "Just like you, eh? Giving dad a heart attack!" Wyatt put up an uncaring face, but inside, he was relieved. He had been so worried there for a minute...

"Yeah, Wyatt. That's my lifes ambition. That, and finally getting one-up on you"Chris replied, hurling the pillow back at Wyatt, who did a very over exaggerated fall from the arm rest.

Piper chuckled light-heartedly at her sons hijinks.

"You guys ar acting like you're six!" she gigged.

Wyatt stuck his head over the arm rest and stuck his tongue out at Chris.

"Five and a half," Piper corrected herself. She loved seeing her boys get along so well, considering all that had gone down in the Other Future. Both her children knew about what had happened, and things had been award for a while, but in this time line, nothing could keep Chris and Wyatt apart for long. That was part of the reason Wyatt came home so often; to see his baby brother.

But as much as she enjoyed Chris's antics, she was more interested in his well being at the moment.

"Chris, hon. I'm going to go get some tea for your throat, sweeite. I'll be back in a bit."

"Mom, you don't have to do that..." Chris called after her, but she didn't hear him, already having entered the kitchen. Sighing, Chris lay himself back down on the couch. He hated worrying his family, hated feeling like a burden, but...if his Mom was set on making him tea, maybe he wouldn't argue much...

"How're you feeling, Chris?" Wyatt asked softly, his demeanor changing from cruel witch to caring brother in the blink of an eye.

"I'm alright, Wy. Really!" he added, seeing the skeptical faces of his father and brother. It wasn't a complete lie; he ached everywhere, and he could barely swallow, but he was happy, he felt alright.

Wyatt didn't share Chris's logic, however, but noted the way Chris's eyelids were drooping, wanting to close...

A few minuted later, Piper came back into the living room, caring a hot cup of tea. It was another concoction she'd brew up when her children were ill; Green tea with lemon, honey, and mint.

"Here you go, hon. Drink it all, it will help."

"Thanks, Mom," Chris said, accepting the cup from her and taking a sip. It was hot, and stung his throat with the first sip, but each swallow went down easier then the last.

Piper watched her baby for a moment, wishing she could do more for him. She, like her husband and eldest, always worried about Chris a little more then they should. But he was the baby of the family, and Piper guess that, while she couldn't speak for Wyatt, her and Leo remembered vividly the kind of life Chris suffered through before, and never wanted him to experience anything even remotely similar. Even if it was only a simple cold, she hated to see Chris in any kind of pain. If only he didn't always wish to fight them...

Sighing, she stood up, planted a warm kiss on Chris's cheek, and went to the kitchen to start dinner.

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"Chris, you look tired. Maybe you should take a nap..."

"I'm not taking a nap, Wy. I'm not tired," Chris lied.

"Come on, Chris. You blink constantly when you're tired, and you're eyes are batting so often, I almost thought you were flirting with me."

Trying to shake the disturbing image that popped into his head, Chris continued to resist.

"Come off it, Wy. You only wanna get me off your back so you won't have to tel me why you where sneaking out at 2 am last week," Chris chuckled, knowing that he'd got Wyatt started. He'd been dodging Chris's inquiries for a week now.

"I just fancied a walk," Wyatt replied defensively.

"Come on, Wyatt! You talk all prim and proper when you lie, and you're talking so fancy right now, I almost thought you were flirting with me," Chris mocked, getting a face full of pillow for his efforts. The stuffing, however, didn't drown out his laughs.

"Well I was!"

"Yeah right. You know you could have orbed out if you 'fancied a walk." Chris said, referring to the spell Piper cast on the house when Wyatt turned 13. They had no idea how she had done it, but she had bewitched the building to prevent her sons from orbing out with the intention of meeting a girl. And they sure as hell had tested it enough times.

"It's that Korean chick, isn't it?" Chris coaxed, dying to get an answer.

Wyatt's cheeks turned a red to match Chris's. "Maybe," he mumbled. "But what abouy YOOOUUU, Chris? What's with that girl on your gymnastics team huh? Whatshername, Bianca?"

Chris suddenly stiffened, though he couldn't suppress a small smile,

"She's just a friend," he defended himself. Badly.

"Tell me another one, Chris. I saw you two last Friday on that bench. I couldn't tell where you ended and she began!"

"That was YOU! You where spying on me!" Chris exclaimed very melodramatically, clapping his hand to his heart. "My own flesh and blood, spying on me..."

"Don't worry, bro. I havn't told Mom. Yet..."

"Don't you dare, Wyatt Matthew Halliwell!" Chris howled, now very serious.

"I don't know, Chris! Maybe you and Dad should have a little talk..."

Chris was sure he was about to say more, but didn't give him a chance to finish it. With a wry smile on his face, he pushed himself forward, knocking Wyatt, who had been sitting beside Chris on the couch, flying several feet across the floor.

And for a moment, they forgot the were grown men, forgot Chris was sick, and attacked each other playfully, but rough, as they always did. It was their way to settle an argument, or to shut the other one up.

Wyatt was much stronger, that was a fact, but Chris was more agile and, despite his fatigue and weakness, was able to wriggle out of any hold Wyatt put on him.

Finally Wyatt decided to play dirty. Making sure to put himself in what would appear to be an easy position to be knocked over, he paused a moment and pretended to catch his breath. Chris seeing his opening, pulled Wyatt down by the shoulders, using all his weight (which, given, wasn't much) to pin Wyatt. Wyatt, being the classic older brother he was, let Chris think he'd won.

"Damn, Chris!" he fake-panted " I guess you have gotten stronger!" he paused a moment, then grinned evilly, and added, "But I ALWAYS win!" And with that he turned over, Chris going over with him, trapped Chris on his back and started tickling him with no mercy.

Chris as always, burst into a fit of laughing, trying in vain to squirm away from Wyatt.

There fun, though, was cut abruptly short when Chris's laughing turned into a hacking couch. Wyatt, his blood suddenly turning to ice, seized Chris from his shoulders and lifted him up, holding him from behind his back.

"It's Ok, Chris. It's Ok. Just try to breathe, calm down." he instructed

A moment later, Leo and Piper came running into the living room, each wearing identical expressions of panic.

"Oh God, Chris!" Leo gasped, kneeling beside his sons. Gently he put his hand on Chris shoulder, coaxing him to sit up straight, his other hand tipping back his head slightly, to make it easier for Chris to breathe, but it didn't seem to be helping.

"Come on, Peanut," Piper tried to keep her voice calm and level as she held her sons hand tightly. "Just try to calm down," because Chris was panicking worse then his parents at the moment. Wyatt wasn't holding up well either.

"Here, son," Leo gently spoke to Wyatt, wrapping his arms around Chris, bringing him from Wyatt's shoulder to his fathers. All the while, Chris fought for air, and seemed to be losing.

"Try to take a deep breathe, son. In, out, in, out," Leo softly whispered in Chris's ear, as he himself followed his instructions, hoping Chris could calm down enough to follow his lead."In and out, Chris. In...there you go son, out..."

Slowly Chris's breathing began to even out, matching rythmicly with his fathers. Leo held him tightly, gently caressing his hair.

"Are you alright hon?" Piper asked delicately, still holding his hand. Chris made no reply, and Piper could see how wore out he was.

"What the Hell happened?" she asked Wyatt.

Wyatt didn't want to tell his mother why Chris nearly choked to death; he felt guilty about it. He should have realized what all that roughhousing would do to Chris in his state. But his mother was expecting an answer.

Chewing his bottom lip, he explained how they had been wrestling on the floor when Chris started coughing.

"You what?" Piper shrieked, louder then she had meant to. "What were you thinking? You're his brother, you should have known better then..."

"It's not his fault, Mom," Chris rasped dryly, still breathing heavily. "I started it. I'M the one who should have known better..."

"But Chris, Wyatt STILL should have..."

"Stop blaming Wyatt," Chris said pleadingly. "It's not his fault..." his voice trailed off lower with each word.

"Come on," Leo said quietly to Chris. "You need to lie back down"

He nodded to Wyatt, who came forward and helped his father hoist Chris to his feet. Half carrying him, they led him back over to the sofa and laid him down.

"I'm not going to sleep," Chris said softly, yet undeniably stubborn.

"I really think you should, Chris," Leo countered.

"I don't want to go to sleep," Chris protested. "I won't"

Leo knew it would be best if Chris got some sleep, he was so obviously exhausted. But arguing with him wasn't going to do any good either.

Sighing, Leo said simply, "OK."

Satisfied, Chris relaxed a bit, sinking into his pillow. Leo leaned forward and pressed his hand against Chris's cheek. Feeling the heat emanating from his skin, he shook the glass thermometer for several seconds, telling Chris to open his mouth, which he did without protest. This made Leo rest at ease and panic at the same time. Chris had decided that it would be easier not to argue, but that also meant he felt too miserable to fight.

Pressing his fingers lightly against Chris's wrist, he timed his pulse, which was racing. He turned his face towards the window slightly, peering into his eyes. They where bright and clouded at the same time. His skin was pale still, and clammy. After a minute, however, when Leo looked at the thermometer, he was surprised to see that his fever wasn't much higher then it had been that morning.

Leo shook two more pills into his hand as Wyatt put a couple pillows behind Chris's back, to help him sit up, and swallowed the pills obediantly. And through all of this, Chris made no protest. It was very evident to Wyatt why, Chris was blinking almost constantly.

"Dinner's almost ready," Piper said after a minute. "I'm going to go...finish it...I guess..." She leaned over, kissed her son lightly on the temple, and she left, leaving Chris with his father and Brother.

After a few minutes of silence, Piper called out for Wyatt to come help her in the kitchen. Reluctantly, considering his detest of cooking, Wyatt told Chris he'd be back soon, and went to help his Mother.

Leo, however, stayed right where he was, sitting on the coffee table beside Chris, who didn't seem very interested in conversation at the moment. So Leo didn't try. He merely sat near his son, gently stroking his dark hair away from his face. Staring blankly down at a tear in Chris's blanket. He knew it was probably nothing to worry about, a cold, flu...But he had the same mind-set as his wife; He didn't want his son to be hurt.

He didn't know how long it was before Piper called him to dinner, but when he looked down to ask Chris if he was hungry, he found Chris, despite all his arguments and protests, to be peacfully asleep.

There you go, another chapter. I hope you enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

Woah! Thanky for all the fabulouso reviews people! I so happy! I took a while longer writing this chapter because I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen in this one. I can honestly say it was the hardest chapter to write out of either of my stories! I just didn't know what I wanted to happen, and besides, I've been sick all weekend (talk about irony)! Lol. But I have a good idea, so...

A/N WHY does everyone hate Bianca? I don't get it; I LOVED that chick!

And to Darkchildlover, I feel honored to receive a review, and as a reward, you get to receive my daily dose of sarcasm "NOOOO...I'm just gonna make it into a 48 hour cough." lol. Um, did you really have to question that:)

Also, this won't make sense now, but it will later. I LOVE cinnamon salt water taffy, and so does Chris, cause I say so! Lol

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Several hours alter, Chris woke up, lost and disoriented. It was dark, and it took his eyes a while to adjust to the unexpected gloom: he must have been out for hours, and he shivered with cold.

Slowly, the shapes of his surroundings began to come into focus; he was lying in his bedroom. Someone, Wyatt, most likely, had brought him upstairs hours ago. He also must have taken Chris's shirt off for him, because he discovered himself bare down to his waist, which was most likely why he was so cold...

Drawing the blankets up around him, still trembling, he turned over onto his side, curling up as he always did when he slept. His body ached in protest to moving, though, and he had to stretch himself out again.

He didn't know how long he lie there, trying to sleep. He was exhausted, his eyelids weighed down by what felt like pounds of lead, and yet rest eluded him.

And he was cold, so cold... He shivered like mad, pulling the covers tightly around him, though that didn't help much. The house, even in autumn, was always rather warm, so except in the dead of winter, Chris slept under a thin sheet, nothing more.

This, however, felt like the dead of winter with every window flung open. But slowly he began to drift off. He was almost asleep when his bedroom door creaked open, so he sensed it as though it where a rather vivid dream. Only when he felt a warm, comforting weight settle over him did he finaly rouse himself long enough to see his mother standing beside him, whispering softly to him to sleep, that she loved him, and to sleep.

He smiled to himself, nestling under the blanket; it was another trick his mother had up her sleeve, for the cold winter months when Wyatt and Chris where small. She'd take the quilt her mother had made, years ago, warm it in the dryer and wrap them up tightly as they went to bed.

Calmed by the sense of familiarity, Chris closed his eyes, sleep washing over him in deep, warm waves...

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Voices. He heard voices. Somewhere, but not in his room... they sounded far off...

Slowly opening his bleary eyes, Chris tried to concentrate on the sounds he heard. They were very distant barely more then a murmur. Most likely, they where coming downstairs. That just goes to support Chris and Wyatts life-long complaint that the walls of the manor were paper-thin.

It was morning now, quite early, judging by the soft light streaming through his bedroom window.

The next thing Chris realized was that he was hungry, very hungry. He somehow knew that he hadn't eaten dinner the night before...Why hadn't he eaten dinner? And what was with this killer headache?

Stiff and sore, Chris sat up in bed, pausing as his head swam, the room spinning like a tilt-o-whirl. There was a throbbing pain at his temples, feeling like his skull was being crushed. A moment later, though, the dizziness passed and Chris, not realizing he was only half dressed, swung his feet onto the floor, and attempted to stand...and fell back onto the bed, grabbing his head. What the hell was going on? I'm getting sick, aren't I? He thought angrily, his high fever not allowing him to think clearly, to remember the events of yesterday.

He tried to rise again, grabbing hold of the night stand to balance himself. Slowly, his steps uneasy and stumbling, he made his way to the door, holding on to the wall to keep himself up. He felt cold and hot at the same time..was that even possible?

He made it out of his room, and began to hobble down the corridor. He realized he was sweating. His head throbbed, and he didn't hear the voices downstairs anymore. The hallway was spinning wildly in front of him. Why was he in the hallway? Where was he going...?

He heard a soft thumping sound, one that would have been much louder if he wasn't concentrating so hard on the pounding in his head.

Suddenly, a voice called out his name twice. Once soft, unsure. The second alarmed and loud.

He wasn't alone in the hallway anymore, someone had come up the stairs. He stared at the blurry form in front of him, which seemed to be walking very fast... He felt so lightheaded, and he had the feeling he was about to throw up...

Suddenly he felt the ground falling away from under him. He didn't know where he was, why he was there, was he falling? Flying?

And then the violent motions under him stopped, and he felt a strong pair of arms surrounding him, holding him tight.

"Dad..." Chris mumbled, his face buried against Leo's chest.

"Shh, You're Ok, Chris. You're Ok," Leo whispered, softly running his fingers through Chris's hair, which was damp from sweat. Leo could feel the heat from Chris's bare skin even through his own t-shirt. "What are you doing out here son?"

Chris just groaned, his eyes fluttering closed.

Leo, still cradling Chris in his arms, leaned backwards to get a better look at the boy. His limp hair clung against his white skin, Chris not bothering to brush it away. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes, open now, were searching the hall wildly, as though he didn't know where he was. He was shaking, curling up against Leo as though trying to get warm.

"Chris?" Leo asked quietly, brushing the strands of dark hair away from his face. "Do you know where you are?"

Chris was quiet for a moment, then he closed his eyes and murmured "Manor."

"What are you doing up, Chris?" He continued, his anxiety making his voice harsh.

Chris shrugged slightly, blinking more as everything slowly came into sharper focus around him. Drowsiness fading away, his mind started to become clearer then before. "I heard voices downstairs, and wanted to see who it was."

"You shouldn't be up Chris," Leo scolded, though his tone was softer now.

"I know," Chris defended. "I just wasn't thinking..."

Leo couldn't blame him for that. A high temperature, mixed with the fog of a half-asleep mind would muddle anyone's thoughts.

He seemed so much worse then he was last night when Wyatt put him to bed, his fever obviously having risen. Leo sighed, adjusting the still shivering form in his arms. Keeping one arm behind his back, Leo hooked the other behind his knees and scooped him into his arms. Chris, though tall, was very thin, so it wasn't a hard task. Carefully, slowly, Leo carried his son back to bed, covering him warmly in the blankets he'd tossed on the floor when he awoke. Chris could probably have walked back to bed with little help, but Leo didn't want him to push himself anymore.

"Better?" Leo asked his son, smoothing the bedding over his still form.

"Hmmmmm..." was the only reply he got from Chris, who was obviously nearly out again.

"You're gonna be Ok, son. You hear me? You're gonna be just fine," Leo murmured, more to convince himself then the sleeping boy. Leo gnawed his bottom lip for a minute, examining his son's features in more detail. So pale, so thin...Leo had never really noticed how skinny Chris was until now. And he looked so weak. How did he get so much worse over night?

Leo took a deep breath, to calm himself down, trying to think of what to do next. He realized that most of Chris's current state was a result of his fever, and he'd probably wouldn't feel nearly as sick if it wasn't so high so he needed to try and lower his temperature as soon as he could. Reluctant as he was to leave Chris alone, he needed to. Smoothing his covers over him lovingly, he got up slowly, walking out of the room and down the stairs, to where Piper and her sisters were deep in conversation.

"Uh, Piper?" he called, and the chatter quickly tapered off.

"What is it, Leo?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"I need you to mix something up for Chris. You got time?"

"Of course! What is it? What's wrong?" Piper responded, her voice wavering with apprehension.

Leo paused, trying to word everything right.

"His fever's a lot higher then last night, and I don't want to keep giving him Aspirin. I'll give you the ingredients, and I'll stay with Chris while you're working...Where's Wyatt?" Leo asked, realizing the absence of his oldest.

"I sent him on a couple errands for me, so he could get some fresh air," she said. "He's really worried, and he'll make HIMSELF sick if he keeps it up!"

Leo nodded, scribbling down ingredients on a pad of paper. It was nothing complicated, just a few herbs to lower his fever and help him rest, with honey added so they could actually coax him to take it. He handed the paper to his wife, gave her a quick kiss n the cheek, and headed back upstairs to check on his son.

Chris awoke once again to the squeak of his door hinges as Leo entered the room. Blinking a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes, he offered a small lopsided smirk.

"Hey Dad," he mumbled groggily. He seemed to have oriented himself a bit, enough to perceive his surroundings, but Leo, when he got closer, could see his eyes where bright and drooping.

"Hey Chris. You feel alright?" Leo inquired, gently stroking Chris's cheek with the back of his hand. His skin was hot, and Chris didn't bother to shake his hand away, both of which where bad signs.

"I'm Ok," Chris answered automatically, as if he'd give any other response. Though at least he knew where he was now, as apposed to when he first woke up.

"Hey, Dad?" Chris added after a moment. "Could I have something to eat? I'm pretty sure I skipped dinner, and I'm kinda hungry."

"When aren't you hungry?" Leo returned, laughing. Chris ate constantly, yet never seemed to gain a pound. "I'll get you something in a minute, son. But your Mom's fixing you something to help you feel better, and I want you to take that before you eat."

"Alright," Chris sighed, knowing that whatever his mother was concocting in her kitchen, it wasn't going to go down easy. His parents had a habit of finding the most unappealing home remedies to give to him and Wyatt.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the stubborn pain in his head trying to make an encore appearance. He sighed again, trying to will it away. Leo, seeing his son's pain, placed his hand against his brow, causing Chris to open his eyes again.

"Dad, I'm alright, really" he argued, seeing his fathers face crease with thought. "Don't worry."

"Chris, I worry by nature. It's a habit I picked up from your mother!" Leo joked, trying to put Chris at ease. "That's something that isn't going to change! So just get used to it Chris, and let me take your temperature..."

"Dad, please. You and Mom always freak out over nothing!" Chris groaned, exasperated.

"We do not freak out over nothing, Chris." Leo responded calmly, his tone soft and even. "We worry about you and your brother, and we only want to keep you two safe! You know we love you, Chris, and only want to take care of you!"

"I don't NEED to be taken care of Dad!" Chris cried, thoroughly agitated. " I can take care of myself!'

Leo sighed, looking down at Chris with saddened eyes. "I know you usually can, Chris. But you're sick! You're sick, and you know as well as I do that you don't feel well, and aren't in any condition to be working yourself up like this. Now open your mouth."

Chris, knowing he had lost his fight before he even started it, sighed audibly, but gave in. He gave out a pouting exterior, but inside he smiled a small grin. He had so much more in common with the other Chris then he would ever realize. He acted tough, like he didn't need help with anything, like he didn't want to be with his parents, but deep down, though he would never admit it, he wanted his parents love and acceptance more then he wanted anything in his life. Like his predecessor, there where times when things got too hard, too much for him to handle alone, and he thanked God that he had his family to fall back on.

Leo sat beside Chris in silence, his hand resting on Chris's shoulder; simply a calming gesture to assure Chris that he was there with him, and wouldn't leave. After a moment, there was a soft knock on the door, after which Piper entered without being invited. In her hand was a glass, filled with a dark green liquid.

"Hey Peanut!" Piper chirped, using a tone Chris hated the sound of. Ever since they where little, she used that tone on her boys before trying to get them to take a dose of her "remedies". At age seven, it was perfectly acceptable to throw a fit to try to get out of it, but Chris suspected that behavior wouldn't be very fitting to a 23 year old witch. "You feel any better?"

"Ifrrfon" Chris stuttered, his voice muffled. Leo gave him a stern look and told him to keep his mouth closed, to which Chris rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"How's he doing?" Piper asked softly to Leo, as though Chris, four feet away, had suddenly been struck deaf and couldn't hear a word they said.

"He's not as out of it as he was earlier, but he could be better." Leo replied, with the same assumption that his son wasn't able to keep up with the conversation.

"Mmmmm..." Chris growled, to let them know that his ears did, indeed, work fine. Though he kept his mouth closed while doing so.

Both of his parents turned around to look at him, slightly surprised. Collecting himself, Leo made his way back over to Chris, to check his temperature. He squinted at the thermometer for a second, then swore softly; it read 104.4.

"Whatisit?" Piper asked all in one word, peering over Leo's shoulder. She sighed softly as she read. Leo really wasn't shocked, considering Chris's earlier stroll downstairs, but he had hoped for a lucky break.

Piper left Leo's side after a minute, carrying the glass over to her son.

"You need to take this, sweetie. You'll feel better," she coaxed, trying to make her voice sound appealing.

Chris eyed the contents of the glass; from his experience, green wasn't a good color for medicine to be.

"Do I have to?" he wheedled half heartedly, knowing he would.

"Yes, Chris. You do," Leo responded firmly, slipping a hand behind his back to help him sit up. He took the glass from Piper and pressed it into Chris's hands. "You drink this, ans we'll get you something to eat. You like Mom's oatmeal, don't you?"

"You're bribing me," Chris shot back, smirking.

"You're stalling. Now drink up."

Sighing resign, Chris brought the glass to his lips, took a swig, and choked. The honey Piper had used didn't have the ability to cover the pungent, bitter taste.

"Ugh! What the Hell is in this?" Chris sputtered, pulling a face Piper hadn't seen in over 10 years.

"Trust me Hon," She said through a fit of laughter. "If you knew, you wouldn't drink it."

"I don't think I'm gonna drink it either way," Chris threatened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I think you are Chris," Leo stated simply. "Now come on, there isn't much left, just down it."

Shaking his head, Chris drank the remaining liquid in three swallows, shuddered, and handed the glass back to his mom.

"There you go, Peanut, good job." Piper praised while Chris "Ughed" loudly, nearly gaging. Giving him a fast peck on the cheek, she left the room with the intent on fixing him something to eat. Leo followed suit, promising to return with a glass of water.

After they left, Chris eased himself back down on his pillow, still trying to get the lingering taste from his mouth. When Leo came back into the room a moment later, he downed the water faster then he had the medicine.

Gratefully handing the glass back to his father, he said "I took my medicine like a good boy; can I go downstairs now?"

"When did we make that bargain?" Leo chuckled, yet he wasn't at all surprised.

"We didn't, but I don't wanna be stuck in bed all day! Can I go downstairs, please?"

Leo hesitated before answering. He didn't want Chris getting riled up, but he also didn't want him wandering all over the house.

"I don't think so, Chris. You need to rest."

"I can rest downstairs!" Chris defended. "Besides, I was downstairs all day yesterday!"

"Yeah, but it's noisy and loud down there, and you need quiet..."

"Dad!" Chris whined, not pleased at all. He was almost 23, why did his Dad still decide everything for him?

"No argument, Chris!" Leo stated, in a very final tone. "You need quiet and rest, and you won't get that downstairs with your aunts there."

"Aunt Paige and Phoebe are downstairs?" Chris said, slightly taken aback. He'd almost forgotten about his mother phone call. On one hand, he couldn't suppress a small grin; he hadn't seen his aunts in months. On the other, his stomach seemed to squirm at the prospect of more fussing family members. AT least Phoebe didn't bring the girls...I hope...

"Yeah, and they can't wait to get their hands on you!" Leo chuckled heartily. Chris just glared at him. After a moment, Leo added, "Your Mom will have your breakfast done soon, but until then, I want you to lay down and rest, OK?"

"Dad," Chris started, groaning, but Leo shushed him by gently pressing on his shoulders, laying him back down.

"Just rest Chris. The less you push yourself, the sooner you'll get better, ever think about that?" Chris hadn't, and so he lay down with minimal argument.

"I'll be back soon, son. And you better brace yourself, because your aunts will likely follow close behind!" Leo warned, then ruffled Chris's hair and left the room.

Chris lie there, trying to straighten his hair and swearing that he'd chop it off if they did that again, when his fathers wish for him to rest was shattered by a flurry of Wyatt-shaped orbs.

"Hey bro!" he greeted Chris merrily as he reformed. He held one hand not-so-discretely behind his back, and (to Chris's great annoyance) shuffled his just-neatened hair. He decided that this one didn't count, though, because Wyatt had been doing that for about 20 years, and would do it for 20 more. And besides, Chris didn't really think he'd like short hair...

"Whatcha doin?" Wyatt asked, as though the answer wasn't achingly obvious.

"I'm being held hostage in my bed. They want 10 thousand dollars, preferably in foul green tonic." Chris dead panned, in his I'm-dead-serous tone.

"Ugh...Mom made the Pond Scum, didn't she?" Wyatt sympathized.

"Yes, and I'm still trying to get the taste out of my mouth!"

Wyatt then got a very mischievous grin on his face, as though he'd been let in on a wonderful little secret.

"Well, forget the pills, I got something that'll make you feel better, AND get the taste out of your mouth." he said, his hand still bent behind his back.

"What is it?" Chris asked warily, remembering all too well when he'd been six and Wyatt had told him that rubbing those 3-leafed plants over his stomach would make his tummy ache better. It didn't.

Grinning, Wyatt brought his hand out from behind him, to show him clutching a small paper bag, which he deposited on Chris's bedside. Curious, but alert to the possibility of something crawling out of the mouth of the sack, he peared inside, then broke out in a grin of his own. Reaching into the sack, he pulled out a large bag of his favorite candy; cinnamon salt water taffy.

"Damn you, Wy!" Chris laughed, thanking his brother without actually saying anything nice, then added, in pure Chrisarcasm, "You're gonna make me loose my appetite! I won't have ANY room for Mom's wheatgerm pancakes!" and he unwrapped a taffy, popping it into his mouth.

"Your welcome, you spoiled little brat" Wyatt laughed, and reached for a piece of taffy.

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I really didn't intend for this chapter to end here, but I knew that if I didn't post soon, I wouldn't live to see 16!


	5. Chapter 5

Wow! I created angst even though I didn't write anything! Or maybe its' BECAUSE I didn't write anything..lol. ANYway, sorry for the wait. It took most of my time last week finishing my Castle for world history (which is now being displayed, thank you very much!) And this week I've been working on our class float for homecoming (well, I"VE been working. My classmates? Not so much) ANYway, on to chapter...what is it? Five?

A/N I have what I think is a cute little Piper/Chris scene in this chapter. Thank you Mr. Plot. B. Unny.

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"Christopher Perry Halliwell, What are you doing?" Piper scolded, walking into her sons bedroom with a breakfast tray.

Chris froze for a moment, resembling a deer caught in the headlights. "Eating." He replied innocently.

"Eating junk," Piper corrected, taking the bag of taffy and setting over on his dresser. "You need something more nourishing then taffy, Chris."

Chris twisted his face up when she wasn't looking; His mothers idea of "Nourishing" was either wheatgerm-tofu-and-oats, or to feed her children as much as they could possibly stomach.

Setting the tray down on her sons lap, Piper switched her dial from "scold" to "Baby"

"How're feeling peanut?" she asked sweetly, trying to fell his temperature.

Chris shook her hand away, but shrugged. "I'm OK, Mom. I'd be really Ok, though, if you told me that those are blueberries and not prunes." he chided, remembering (not so fondly) of one of his mothers tactics to get him and Wyatt to eat better.

Piper smiled warmly, biting back a snippy retort. "Yes, those are blueberries. Now eat". She insisted.

As Chris started on his breakfast (pancakes and oatmeal with orange juice) Piper grabbed her oldest roughly by the ear, leading him struggling in to the hallway.

"What where you thinking, giving him junk like that?" she demanded, finally releasing her hold.

"I was thinking that I wanted to do something nice for him!" Wyatt defended nervously. He stood more then head-and-shoulders above his mother, yet she could instill a fear in him that no demon ever could.

"You could have gotten him a blanket or a bowl of soup. Speaking of which, did you even go buy groceries?"

"Yes Mom," Wyatt groaned. "I set them in the kitchen, just like always."

"Don't take that tone with me, Wyatt!" Piper scolded, raising her voice

"What tone?" Wyatt wanted to know, getting a bit exasperated. They where about to continue in this thread, when they received yells from both Phoebe, the Resident Empath, and Chris, the one with a headache, to please shut up already before they came out there to MAKE them shut up. They stood there for a moment, blinking rapidly, before busting up into fits of laughter.

Walking back into Chris's bedroom, Piper noticed that he'd only eaten about half of his breakfast, the leftovers sitting on the table beside his bed.

"You should finish that sweetie," She coaxed, trying to set his food in front of him again, but he resisted, claiming he was full.

"But you barely ate half of it" she protested, still not backing down.

"I don't want any more," Chris whined, passing the tray back to her. Sighing loudly in resogn, Piper picked the tray up, setting his orange juice on the end table. "At least finish that," she ordered, taking the tray down to the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, however, to warn him, "Your Aunts are downstairs, but I don't think they'll be down there long."

And sure enough, not two minutes later, two woman in their late forties came running past the door, throwing themselves on top of a very befundled Chris, who, for a moment, thought he was being attacked by a very over-emotional pack of demons. It wasn't until he saw a flash of deep red (Aunt Paiges current hair color) among the tangle on his bed, that he realized he was up against not warlocks, but witches.

"Hey Aunt Paige, Aunt Phoebe," he laughed, gaping for air as they continued to smother him in their arms. "How are you guys?"

"How are WE?" Phoebe squealed, finally pulling back. "You're lying up here sick with a fever and you ask us how WE are?"

"Geez Aunty Phoebe, Drama Much?" He teased. Aunt Phoebe was always very melodramatic.

"Wel, how ARE you, Oh-dear-nephew-of-mine?" Paige quipped, also pulling back so see him at arms length.

"I'm fine, really. Whatever Mom and Dad have told you is mst likely a dramatization."

"Fine. He says he fine Paige," Phoebe said, borrowing a little Chrisarcasm.

"Yeah, didn't the Other Chris always say he was fine? Right before an assassin nearly killed him?

"And he turned into a Spider Demon?"

"And he..."

"Alright already, I get it! I'm a lying pain-in-the-ass in any lifetime, right?" Chris laughed good naturedly. "But really, I feel fine!"

"Yeah, I think that pretty much sums it up, don't you Paige?"

"Well, you can't forget Sarcastic, neurotic..."

"Paranoid, dramatic, deceitful..."

"Hey come on guys, I'm sick! Give me a break!"

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Chris spent the morning goofing around with his Aunts, whom he didn't see as much as he would have liked. Phoebe was still doing "Ask Phoebe", and had recently written a book on relationships. Paige worked at Magic School, though she moonlighted as a portrait artist, and she was damn good at it too. It was almost lunch when Chris started spacing out, his eyes drooping.

Taking one look at her nephew, Phoebe smacked Paige playfully on her arm, "Look what you did, you wore him out!"

"No no! 'M Ok, really. I'm just peachy."

"And just an hour ago he finally admitted to being sick!" Paige said with exagerated bewilderment.

"Hey you're the one who said I was deceitful," Chris snapped mockingly, punctuating his statement with a hacking cough.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Paige said nervously, taking hold of him and rubbing his back gently. "Calm down, calm down. You OK?" she asked a minute later, when Chris had finally regained control of his breathing. "Maybe you should lay back down hon," she suggested.

And to her and her sisters immense confusion and worry, he consented, easing himself back down, already half asleep.

"Just rest a while sweetie. We ain't going no where."

"Oh wow, THAT makes me feel better," Chris mumbled as he sank into sleep.

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Chris awoke some time later. 10 minutes of five hours, he didn't know. Drowsy, he turned over to go back to sleep...and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw that he wasn't alone.

"Whoa, Peanut, it's OK, just me." his mother soothed, brushing his long hair out of his eyes.

"Whatryoudoinere? He mumbled, still wishing to go back to sleep.

"Shh... quiet hon. Just close your eyes." Chris did as he was told, and was almost out of it again, when he felt a very odd, cold sensation around his throat.

"Mom," he moaned, trying to edge away from her. "What the Hell are you doin?"

"Hush, sweetie. Just relax..."

Chris could smell something that brought to mind rotten fruit and garlic. "Good God, Mom. What is that?"

"Shush. You've been coughing and wheezing for hours. This'll make it easier for you to breath And stop wriggling!"

Chris, who found himself too tired to struggle, relented, and found himself relaxing. Whatever it was she had made stank horribly and was unpleasantly thick and gritty, but Chris was somehow comforted by the feeling of his mothers touch, gently rubbing her latest home remedy over his throat and chest.

"I remember I did this all the time when you where little," Piper mused, gently massaging the poultice onto her sons throat. "You used to get awful chest colds every time the weather changed, and you had the hardest time breathing at night. You remember that?" He did, but was too lulled by her voice to bother responding. "One of Gram's old recipes. Whenever you got sick, I'd always start making this right away, I knew it wouldn't be long before you needed it. And when you where ready to go to sleep, I'd come upstairs and find you hiding in the closet. Or at least, you USUALLY hid in the closet. Once you figured out how, you would orb all over the house, once you even landed yourself on the roof!" Chris smiled slightely. His Mom gave birth to him at 32; she had gray hair by 35. "It took forever to get you to come out of the closet, you hated this stuff so much!" She paused to wipe her hands off on a towel, before wrapping it snugly over Chris's neck and chest. "But we would finally get you in bed, and I'd rub it over your chest, cover you up nice and warm, and you'd always sleep better."

Piper didn't know if Chris had even heard the end of her recollection; he looked peacfully asleep, his breathing deep and gentle.

Kissing him softly on the forehead, sighing as she felt his still-high temperature, she pulled the covers up around him, and turned to leave the room.

"Mom,"

Piper stopped, turning around to see Chris lying still, one eye half open. "Mom, will you stay?"

"What?" she whispered softly, walking back over to her baby.

"You would put me in bed, cover me up warmly, and you'd always stay with me until I fell asleep. Will you stay?" Chris was barely awake, but Piper had the feeling that he knew exactly what he was saying.

"Course I will Peanut," she cooed, settling herself down beside Chris, stroking his dark hair.

Chris fell asleep less then a minute later, but still Piper stayed.

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"Chris, come on son, open your eyes."

"Mfffhmmmrrrr..." Chris mumbled, still sleeping soundly.

"Come ON, Chris, wake up, just open your eyes for a sec."

"Whatdyouwant?" he whined. He'd been so warm, so comfortable, that he was rather pissed off about being woken up.

"I just need you to take this," Leo said. Chris opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Looking towards his father, he saw him holding a glass filled with an oh-too-familiar green potion.

"Oh God, you're kidding me!" he groaned, his stomach rolling at the thought.

"No, I'm sorry, but there's only one more dose after this," Leo assured him. "Can you sit up?"

Chris nodded automatically, but once he actually tried to sit up, he discovered that he wasn't sure he could. He managed to push himself up on his elbows, but his arms shook like crazy, and he had to lie down again. Chris was too weak to support himself, and it scared the Hell out of him.

It scared the Hell out of Leo as well. Chewing on his bottom lip, he studied his son for a moment, taking in his pale skin and the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

"It's all right, Chris. You're just tired," Leo tried to reassure his son. Slipping an arm beneath his shoulders, he raised him up enough to drink his medicine. He pressed the glass against his lips, tipping it forward and urging him to drink. Chris gagged and sputtered but got most of it down. Leo gently eased him back down, hoping he might go back to sleep soon. Chris, however, didn't seem to want to. He lay there, seemingly lost in thought...

Silently stroking his hair, Leo took his sons temperature; almost 105. The first dose hadn't even had an effect, his temperature had risen.

He sighed deeply, then said to Chris; "I know you don't want to Chris, but if your temperature doesn't go down soon, we're taking you to the hospital."

"No way!" Chris argued, standing firm in his ground. He was right, he DIDN"T want to go. Leo was a doctor, he could take care of him just fine at home...not that he needed taking care of.

"Chris, we're worried, all of us are. We just want to see you get better..."

"No, Dad! I'm not going. I'm a grown man, you can't make me!"

You really sound grown and mature, Leo thought, though he kept his mouth closed on that comment, and simply tried to reason with him. "I'm for father Chris, and I only want what's best for you. If you get any worse, then we're taking you to the hospital, end of story."

Chris wanted to argue, wanted to fight more, but he didn't have the strength. He simply glared at his father a moment before managing to push himself onto his side, his back to Leo. He took the hint, squeezed his shoulder softly, and left the room, hoping that at least he'd get some rest.

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He didn't, though. He spent over an hour lying there, lost in thought. He felt awful. His entire body ached, he was thirsty and cold, and his stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels. But he hated hospitals, hated doctors (his father excluded...usually.) He wasn't going, and that was that. The potion Mom made would work, he'd get better, and he'd stay home...

"Hhhmmmm" Chris moaned softly, pulling his knees up, trying to ease the pain in his stomach. All he'd eaten today was oatmeal, that wouldn't make him feel like this would it? His tactic seemed to work for a while, but his stomach kept cramping into spasms, and the next thing he knew, he had pulled himself over to the edge of the bed and wretched all over the floor.

Groaning, he let himself go limp, his head resting on the sheets. God, what did he do to deserve being this sick?

He heard footsteps hurrying down the hall, and a moment later, Leo emerged through his bedroom door.

"Oh, Chris," he breathed, rushing to his sons side, trying to avoid the mess on the floor. He sat on the bed next to Chris, raising his head up off the bed.

"I'm sorry Dad, I ju.." he stopped abruptly. Leo, still keeping hold of his son, grabbed a trash can from under the desk, setting it beside the bed not a moment too soon.

"It's alright, it's alright," he whispered, rubbing light circles over Chris's back, trying to comfort him best he could.

A few minutes later Chris moaned softly, going limp in his fathers arms.

"You done?" Leo asked softly, brushing Chris's dampened hair out of his eyes.

Chris didn't trust himself to speak, but nodded meekly, letting his father lay him back down to magicly clean up the floor. He offered him a glass of water, which Chris only sipped at, to get the taste out of his mouth.

"There you go," he said softly, setting the glass back on the table. "Now just let me take your temperature..."

"No," Chris spoke for the first time. He knew his temperature hadn't gone down any, he could feel it. And sick as he may be, he didn't need to go to the hospital. "No."

He expected a fight from Leo, expected an argument, but his father just sighed loudly and said, Ok. However, instead of leaving Chris to rest, he pulled back the covers and scooped Chris into his arms.

"Hey! What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Chris demanded, outraged. "Put me down, where are you taking me?" he tried to struggle against his fathers hold, but he didn't have the strength. "Dad, please! Let me go!"

Leo headed downstairs, passing Piper on the stairs.

"Leo, what are doing with our son?" Piper asked, a little lost.

Leo just looked at her, his expression one of worry, fright, frustration and stubbornness.

"Go start the car, hon, and leave Wyatt a note to meet us at San Francisco Memorial."

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I promise I won't leave you guys so long without an update again! Please, read and review!


	6. Chapter 6

Yay! I made someone cry! Oh, um...I sorry, by the way, I just proud of my self! ANYway, I told you that I'd update fast!

A/N: No, Wyatt wouldn't have found the note when he woke up, cause it's only, like, six o'clock in their time. They where just out doing...I dunno, something...

Also, I got the name "ollrich" from the name Ulrich, the last name of this guy I had a crush on in fourth grade. I just needed a name, and that popped up. (His first name? Kristofer! No, seriously...)

Also, I've only been in the hospital once, (I had a seizure in church and was there for five days.) So most of the descriptions are taken from what I know from experience, or watching TV and reading.

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"Christopher, I swear to God if you don't lay down, I'll call a nurse to come in and _strap_ you down!" warned Piper Halliwell.

"I'm not tired, Mom! I don't wanna lay down!" he whined, acting about half his real age.

The family (excluding the Aunts, whom they hadn't gotten a hold of yet) where gathered in a small, pristine exam room in the ER, where they were trying in vane to convince Chris to take it easy while they waited for a doctor. He was sitting on the edge of a bed, swinging his legs out of nervous habit; he hated being here, he was pissed at his Dad, and he just wanted to go home.

"Come on, Chris," Wyatt wheedled, hoping to somehow get through his brothers impossibly thick skull. "The more you rest and relax, the sooner you can get out of here!"

Chris cringed at his over-optimistic tone, and was about to snap back with his usual pessimistic retort when a nurse rapped a little too loudly on the doorframe, letting herself in.

"Halliwell?" she asked, sounding rather bored. She didn't wait for confirmation, though, and proceeded to check Chris's blood pressure (too low) temperature (too high) and pulse (too fast). She scribbled on a chart, told him a doctor would be in shortly, and promptly left the room.

"Who spit in HER coffee?" Chris sneered after she left. God, he thought. I throw up, I pass out, and I get stuck with a nurse in desperate need of a Midol. Just great.

"She can probably just tell that you're going to be Hell to deal with. Now will you please lay down?" his father sighed, getting exasperated. He only earned a dark look from his son for his efforts.

"Shortly" turned out to be close to half an hour, and they where ALL getting a bit restless and peturbed by the time a doctor came in.

"Christopher Halliwell?" he asked carrying the chart the nurse had wrote on earlier. .

"Mmhm." Chris confirmed, hunched over with his chin resting on his hand. He gave the doc a once over; slightly taller then himself, with a few extra founds round the waist, used-to-be-auburn hair, that was mostly grey now, wearing green hospital scrubs and tennis shoes. Rather unremarkable really.

"I'm Dr. Ollrich," he began, looking from the paper he was studying.

"Mmhm," Chris repeated, not moving.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting down on a wheeled stool across from Chris.

"I feel OK, but they tell me different," he replied, still sticking to his story like play-doh to new carpet.

"Well, what seems to be the problem?"

Chris opened his mouth to respond with "It's just a cold" or something to that nature, but his mother got to it first.

"He's been running a fever for a couple days, and it just keeps getting worse."

"And he's gotten really weak, and has trouble keeping his food down." Leo finished.

One, Two, Three, Four...Chris started counting slowly, trying to will away the humility evident in his crimson face. Reason He Hated Doctors Number 7; spilling your guts (or telling him that you did) to a complete stranger.

"If you're feeling weak, maybe you should lay down," Dr. Ollrich replied, his tone displaying what sounded like genuine concern.

"I don't need to lay down," Chris stated simply, for about the twelfth time that day.

He just shrugged, "alright. Let's just see what we got here. Um...you're going to have to take your shirt off please."

Chris cringed, groaning loudly in his head. He hated to be seen shirtless, with the exception of his father, brother, and (sometimes) mother. He'd always been so scrawny, with almost no muscle to speak of. Sighing softly, he tugged his red t-shirt over his head, ruffling his hair even more.

He hissed and shuddered as Dr. Ollrich pressed a cold stethoscope against his heated skin.

"Sorry. Just breathe slowly please... that's good...now take a deep breath, hold it..."

Reason He Hated Doctors number 15; taking orders. But he did as he was told. Unlike his parents, who would only make threats, Dr. Ollrich could make his near future Hell.

"Alright, then" he continued, pulling a small pen light from his front pocket. "Now follow the light please..."

He shone the light into Chris's eyes, who gasped and turned away as his head nearly exploded in a rush of pain.

"Alright, I'm sorry, come on," he urged, turning Chris's face towards him again. "It'll only take a second..." He turned the flash light back on again, and Chris made himself sit still.

The rest of Chris's exam went without trouble. Dr. Ollrich looked down his throat and in his ears, finally,_ finally_ got him to lay down and pressed on his stomach, re-checked his temperature (still too high) and settled down to start with the questions, reinstating Number Seven. Basic things; age, birth date, medical history, home life etc.

"And?" Leo asked when he'd finished questioning his son.

"And...I don't think it's anything too serious, probably a bad case of the flu, but I want to do a few tests, just to be sure."

"What kind of tests," both Piper and Chris asked at the same time, niehter one of them too overjoyed by the prospect.

"I'd like to do some blood work, for one thing, get a chest x-ray- your breathing sounds strained- and a lumbar puncture..."

Chris whimpered audibly at his last suggestion. "Why would I need that?"

"Headaches, muscle stiffness, sensitivity to light- all signs of meningitis."

"But I thought you said it was just a case of the flu!"

"No, I said, I THINK that's what it is, but we need to be sure. Now, I'll get a nurse to draw some blood, then we'll go from there." and with that, he made his exit.

Chris resumed his earlier position; back hunched, head laying on his hand. He was already lost in thought when he felt the bed beneath him rock a Wyatt jumped up beside him, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. Chris made no move to get away.

"Aw, cheer up, Chris! It can't be that bad! They'll figure out whats wrong with you, give you some pills, and send you home."

"Shyeah. Cheerful, huh? Easy for you to say. No ones gonna be sticking a needle in _your_ back!" Chris bit, still sulking.

"Um, I think I'm going to go try Phoebe's cell phone again," Piper quipped. She got up slowly (she wasn't as young as she used to be!) And paused on her way out the door long enough to give her youngest a peck on the cheek. Though he tried to hide it, Piper could see the corner of his mouth curl up. "I'll be right back"

There was a silence in the room after she left. Not awkward, or heavy, just...quiet. Outside the door they could here bustling and beeping, sounds synonymous with a hospital.

Chris tried to relax, easing out the stiffness in his stooped shoulders by leaning (inconspicuously, he hoped) into his brothers embrace. Ever since they were little, Wyatt was always his protector. Demon attacks, violent children, that damn German Shepard next door...whenever Chris was hurt or in danger, Wyatt was there to protect him, or heal. He didn't really understand why Wyatt couldn't heal him now, though if he asked the Elders, they'd probably give him some bull like, It is written in the stars! Or Nature should never be disrupted!

He closed his eyes tightly as a queer feeling passed through his body. It was like the feeling you got when you half awoke from a dream you couldn't really remember; you where still much more in the dream then you were in real life, and it felt as though you where simply a quiet observer of yourself, not really all there...damn, maybe he _should_ lie down...

Dr. Ollrich chose that moment to enter the room again, accompanied by a nurse (thankfuly, it wasn't the woman from earlier; this girl was younger, and looked more pleasant).

"Alright, Mr. Halliwell," he began. "Catherine here is gonna get a blood sample, then we'll..."

But Chris couldn't seem to focus on what the doctor was saying. It was like listening through one of those tin-can-and-string phones, he could only catch tidbits of what was being said. And there was that dream feeling again...

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"Mr. Halliwell? Mr. Halliwell, can you hear me? Mr. Halliwell..."

God, leave me alone...Chris thought, his head aching. He was tired, and only wanted to slee...wait. When the Hell did he go to sleep? Last thing he remembered was Dr. Ollrich talking about taking some blood, and then...

"Oh, crap. I passed out, didn't I?"

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Leo kept silent through Chris's exam. He trusted the doctor knew what he was doing, but still, this was his son they where talking about. Nothing and No one was good enough for his children. He watched with a critical eye as he checked Chris' heart, and temperature. After Piper he left, Wyatt jumped up on the bed keeping a protective arm around his brother, and Leo had to resist the urge to do the same. But he was pretty sure that Chris was still pissed at him, and his affection wouldn't be well accepted.

But something just wasn't right. Chris seemed like he was out of it. At first he just assumed it was the fever, but then again...

Then Dr. Ollrich came back into the room, this time with a nurse. He started to give Chris and his family a run-down of events to follow, But Leo wasn't listening; he was too focused on Chris. Chris's eyes had glazed over, and he kept blinking, slowly but often. Something was wrong.

A moment later, Chris swayed forward out of Wyatts arms and slid off the bed, unconscious. Wyatt and the doctor, the two closest, rushed forward to break his fall. Wyatt got him around the waist, and Dr. Ollrich tried to steady his head and shoulders.

Leo, panicked now, ran towards them as they carefully lowered Chris to the floor. Dr. Ollrich took out his flash light, gently lifted Chris's eyelids and shone the light in his eyes a moment, beofre removing it. "Eyes are dilated," he said, pocketing the light.

"Mr. Halliwell? Mr. Halliwell, can you hear me? Mr. Halliwell..." the doctor shook his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him, as the nurse propped his legs up on the pillow she'd grabbed from the bed.

Leo watched his son intently, his breathing catching in his chest. Oh, God. What was wrong with him?

Chris groaned softly, his head rolling to one side. His eyelids fluttered, but failed to open. Then, he groaned again, and said shakily, "Oh, crap. I passed out didn't I?"

Leo almost laughed at his sons outburst. It was such a...a Chris thing to say.

"Chris, son, can you hear me?"

Chris took several deep breaths before finally squinting up at the people around him. Deja vu, he thought wryly.

"Yeah, I can hear you," he croaked softly. "I passed out, huh?" he repeated.

"Yes, you did," Dr. Ollrich responded, pressing two fingers against Chris's limp wrist. "You weren't out for very long, but people don't pass out for no reason. I'm going to have you admitted."

Chris made a noise that was halfway between a sigh and a groan, then shivered slightly as Dr. Ollrich made to listen to his heart and breathing.

"Take slow, deep breaths," he instructed, and Chris obeyed silently. He still felt so out of it. He felt confused, lost, and...frightened...

"Alright, then. Do you think you can stand with help?" he asked, and Chris nodded. Dr. Ollrich and Wyatt grabbed Chris around the waist and chest, helping him to his feet, and guided him back over to bed. No one had to tell him to lay down this time.

"Catherine will stay here, help you out, and I'm going to go and get the appropriate paper work," he said, before leaving the room again.

Chris was starting to get his bearings again, and watched as Catherine started searching through a cabinet for a minute before pulling out a pale blue hospital gown.

"Do you think you could sit up?" she asked. She had a very pleasant voice, Chris thought, and with Leo supporting his back, he sat up. "You need to change, and once you do, I'll finish drawing your blood, and we'll get you into a room."

"Oh joy," Chris dead panned, as Leo tied the gown behind Chris's neck.

After Chris had changed, nurse Catherine guided him back down, tying a thing rubber strip above his elbow.

"Relax your arm," she instructed, swabbing the crook of his elbow with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol.

Chris, who hated the sight of needles, turned his head away, focusing on a glare on the tile floor. He could see Leo standing by the bed from the corner of his eye. There was a sting on his arm, and a slight burning feeling, but not much more than that. He was thankful that he didn't have the nurse from earlier. She'd be the kind to stick the needle in at random and wiggle it around till she drew blood.

"OK, that's it," she said a minute later, pressing a square of gauze over his skin. "Just lie here and rest a while."

Chris felt exhausted, in more ways then one. So he needn't be told twice. Leo sat down on a chair by Chris's bed, putting his hand tentivly on his shoulder. He guessed that Chris was more pissed then ever at him, but, for reasons unbeknownst to either of them, he didn't shy away from his touch.

'Such a fine day', he thought glumly. I throw up, pass out, get a pissy nurse and a needle in the back, plus a gown that was about two sizes two big. 'I hate omens...'

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A/N I get blood work done every month, and I ALWAYS get the nurse with the high ponytail who can never find my vein on the first try, and seems to think she must move it around to find it. Ow...

ANYway, I told you I'd update fast! Don't forget to review, and, as we say at the charmed DEATH TO THE TEENAGE WITCH!


	7. Chapter 7

Darkchildlover. Tell me about it! I passed out in art class a couple years ago...in front of the whole class while I was modeling! I nearly fell off the frickin cabinet!

Chewy. No, it doesn't have anything to do with the other Chris DIRECTLY..and really. You think I'm gonna give the whole dramatic "what's wrong with our baby?" angst thing away so easily? Lol

Nothingbutsara. Hmmm...now I feel like I'm being graded. Freshamn English flash back! No, lol. Um, I can almost gaurantee that most of the stuff I write will be medicaly incorrect, but hey, this IS fiction! Just don't flame me! cowers in corner

Petites...um, something...Ay De Mi! Yo no hablo Francaise! Yo hablo ingles y espanol! Los soentos, pero yo no comprendo nada... (I emailed the review to my friend, who takes French, for a translation. I've taken three years of Spanish, but know NO French!)

also, I have thought of a very bittersweet Chris-Wyatt moment. I won't be using it in this chapter..too early...but look for it soon!

A/N. This is simply a filler chapter. I have plans, but I can't use them for another chapter or two, so you're getting a lotta filler from now to then.

ANYway. Another day, another update...

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"Mom, please! I'm not hungry!"

"Come on sweetie, just a little." Piper pleaded with her ever-stubborn son. He'd been given a room on the sixth floor, and was sulking grumpily in his bed. His mood wasn't improved at all by his mother trying to force feed him his dinner.

"I don't want any!" he insisted, trying to push the over-tray away from him. "I'm nauseous I'm tired, my head hurts, my wrist hurts, and my throat hurts. I don't wanna eat!"

"Wait, why the Hell does your wrist hurt?"

"Stupid nurse put the damn bracelet on too tight and I thinks it's cutting off my circulation!"

"Stop being so dramatic! Just a little ice cream. It's cold, it'll make your throat feel better."

"THAT"S what you said when I was nine and had strep throat. As I recall, it didn't!"

"Chris, be reasonable." she argued her point. "You haven't eaten since breakfast, and from what I understand, you threw that up hours ago! You need to eat Chris, please."

"No, I don't want any!" he whined, rather irritated by this point.

"Chris, if you don't stop whining, the nurses will think there's been a mix-up and send you down to pediatrics!" Piper warned.

"Ah, come on Mom, that's not true," Wyatt defended, patting his brothers shoulder. Chris felt very grateful for his brothers defense until he added,"You know very well that they'd take him to the psych ward first!"

"Bite me," Chris sneered bitterly.

"God Chris, can you please not be so grouchy!" Phoebe protested, pressing her hands to her temples. She usually had total control over her empathy, but being in very high-strung environments, like hospitals, always wore her down.

Chris crossed his arms in front of his and sank back into his pillow. I have every right to sulk, he thought defensively.

For the last hour and a half, he'd been taken over the greater portion of the second floor, being subjected to one test after the other. He was taken upstairs to a room to rest, and had thought he was through, until a nurse bustled in about ten minutes later and began to explain the process if a lumbar puncture.

"Lay on your side please..no, your side...now tuck your knees up..."

This naturally did nothing to improve Chris's mood. He'd been shot with poisoned arrows, slashed with steel blades, hurled against walls, and been scorched by fireballs, yet he quacked and flinched at the very sight of a needle, particulay one intended to be stuck into his back.

His qualms only increased when Leo, at the time the only one in the room, quietly sat down beside him and took Chris's hand in his own. The last time he had done that was when Chris was 17, had been magically hurled through a conservatory window, and his mother had to dig tiny slivers of glass out of his back before Leo could heal him. And that had hurt like Hell.

The nurse instructed him to tuck his head down and take a deep breath. Out of instinct he squeezed his fathers hand, his other twisting the corner of his bed sheet. It was a rather awkward position to be in, but he couldn't do anything about that. He flinched when something cold brushed against his lower back.

"Just try to relax," instructed his dad in a soft voice, still holding his hand.

'Relax', he thought bitterly. 'sure, might as well tell me to sto-OW!'

Chris hissed loudly through clenched teeth, tightening his hold on both his sheet and his father. He'd felt worse, growing up in the enviorment he did, but that wasn't the point...

"It's ok son. It'll only hurt for a minute." Leo soothed. Chris's first reaction was to snap a sharp 'Bite Me', but he held his tongue. But his father was right; a moment later the sharp pain in his back delled considerably, and the nurse left, with instructions to lay still for a while. And Chris did just that, without bothering to let go of Leo.

Chris winced slightly at the memory, definately one to file in "storage never to be looked through"

"Com on Peanut, I'll make you a deal. You eat your chicken, your juice and the ice cream, and I'll convince Wyatt to drop by the library for you tomorrow," offered Piper, using Chris's bookworm status as leverage.

"You're bribing me," Chris observed smugly.

"Yes, I am bribing my youngest son to eat, and no, I feel no shame about it because I know very well that it works every time."

She was right, of course, and Chris maanaged to choke down most of his dinner, earning him ample praise and a smug "I KNOW what's best for you look" from his Mom.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"OhmyGod, Chrissy! Are you ok?"

Chris cringed very, very noticably at the use of his nick-name, which had been practically shouted through a bullhorn by his Aunt Phoebe as she and Paige came rushing into his room.

"What's wrong, have they found anything out yet Where's your Mother?"

"Um, I don't know yet, no, and getting coffee." Chris managed to reply, stunned.

"Oh, sweetie, come here!" Aunt Phoebe nudged him over, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

"Aunt Phoebe?" he sputtered.

"Hmm?"

"Um, if you don't stop choking me then they'll be taking me out of here through the back doors!" he choked dramaticaly.

"Sorry sweetie," Paige apologized as they both let go. He closed his eyes wearily to avoid the pitying looks they offered.

Just then, Piper walked in, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Chris, I just got off the phone with your unts, they're...here..."she trailed off. "And judging by the disheveled hair, I'll assume they've already attacked."

"The female species is one of cunning instinct and viciouse brutality." Chris laughed, very "discovery Chanel" documentary.

After Piper had called off the visicous, feral animals. Or Phoebe and Paige, as they where commonly known, she settled herself down at Chris's bedside. There was only one chair on Chris's side of the room, but she just _dared_ her sisters to take it.

"I spoke to a nurse on my way up, and she said that some of your test results are in, and Dr. Ollrich will come by later when he makes his rounds."

"Whoo-py" Chris dead panned.

True to word, hardly five minutes later. Dr. Ollrich knocked lightly on the open doorframe and entered the room.

"Well? What have they found out?" Piper pounced the moment every part of him was in the room.

"Actually, not much," he admitted, earning a squawk of ourtrage from the petite brunette in front of him.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, a few of the tests have come back, all negative. X-ray's normal, white cell count's high, but that's to be expected, spinal tap came back negative... we just don't know yet."

Piper opened her mouth, most likely to give the older gentleman a tongue-lashing, but her youngest stopped her dead in her tracks with a "Yell at the doctor, and I"LL pay for it later" look.

Dr. Ollrich procedded o give Chris a quite check-over, promised to let them know whatever they found out, and left .

"Mom, don't you remember what you used to tell me and Wyatt? There are three people you never want to piss off; your wife, your doctor, and your dog, because they can ALL make your life Hell!"

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"What's a six-letter-word for 'angel?"

"Wyatt."

"Shyeah, maybe after a few drinks when you see that red-head at P3. Besides, that's only five letters."

"OK, then. Wyatt. H."

"That's TWO words, Wy."

"No, it's one word and a letter"

"Come on Wy! Humor me here!"

It was getting rather late in the evening, visiting hours ending in 15 minutes, and Chris had enlisted the help og his brother to help him finish the crossword puzzle. Wyatt was not exactly pleased.

"Ok, ok...whiny little brat. Um, how bout 'perfect?"

"You failed first grade arithmetic, didn't you? 'Perfect' is seven letters!" Chris barked

"Oh yeah? At least I don't have to take my clothes off to count to 21!"

"Wyatt, you've used that joke since before you could even count to TEN!"

"Cherub."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Cherub," Wyatt repeated." A six letter word for angel. Cherub."

"Oh. Um, thanks," Chris mumbled, penciling in 'Cherub.'

The room was silent for a moment, the only sounds coming from Chris's pencil scratching at the newspaper, and the television set, on which Wyatt was engrossed in some old rerun. He didn't know the name of the show, something about Dating someones teenage daughter, but he was amazed that any actress could have as little talent as the lead blonde, Kaley something-or-other.

"A five-letter-word for large squawking parrot and if you say "Chris", I swear to God I'll glamour myself to look like you and go over to McKenzies' and..."

"Hey, slow down! I wasn't going to say "Chris...OK, maybe I was, but I DIDN"T!" Wyatt rushed.

"Fine, OK, how bout an eight-letter-word for "revelation?"

"How about an eleven-letter-word for insufferably annoying little brother who's bigger, stronger older brother is gonna send him to ICU if said younger brother doesn't shut up?" Wyatt suggested, fed up with it.

Chris, flustered, sat blinking for a moment in silence, tryting to regain his composure.

"So...you _don't_ know an eight-letter-word for revelation?"

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Chris, whose mood had lightened somewhat in past hours, was now as wriled as ever. It was almost five in the morning, and he'd gotton, oh, an hour of sleep. His family had left at half-past eight, (quite reluctantly, truth be told) with the promise of seeing him again bright and early.

"Just go right to sleep Peanut, get your strength back," Piper whispered, planting a warm kiss n his cheek.

It was almost two hours later before he finally started to drift off. Bright light flooded in from the hallway, there was constantly someone bustling past his door, calls being made over the intercom. His head (still) hurt, his room mate snored. Loudly. And he kept raising himself up to beat on his pilow a little. But eventually, he felt himself drift off, welcoming sleep openly. Until he learned that it was hospital conduct to take a patients vitals every six hours, middle of the night or no. Chris snapped at the nurse, the nurse stuck a needle in his wrist, claiming that he was quite dehydrated from his temperature.

'Sure,' Chris thought, the voice in his head spitting acid. 'You're just mad cause I told you to go to Hell when you woke me up'

Chris squinted at the clock on the wall; almost midnight. Lovely.

Chris spent the rest of the night wrestling with his blanket, alternately shivering and sweating, swearing when the tape securing his IV pulled at his skin as he moved his hand, and catching snippets of slumber between loosing fights with his pillow.

Needless to say, Chris wasnt exactly a ray of sunshine when, at eight that morning, after a thirty minute nap, his mother awakened him with a jovulant, caffiene-lingering, "Good morning Peanut! Sleep well?"

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

OK, I'm not exactly thrilled about this chapter. Like I said, I needed filler. Not my nest work, but I promise, I DO have big plans!

And, as the charmed sons . com declares, DEATH TO THE TEENAGE WITCH!


	8. Chapter 8

WHOA WHOA WHOA! What he Hell? I visited me log-in page, and it says I have SEVEN hits! Yesterday I had almost 6000! And for my other story, I had ONE! WTF?

Yep laziness. Pure, undiluted laziness. Y'all can thank Sparking Cherries for the update. She's right. I've been lazy! But you all will be happy to know that in my laziness, I've thought of a really really cool idea for my next fic.

Anywho, on with the show!

I got the idea for this plot about a week ago, and it gives me SO much more to work with!

Also, No one knows Chris' birthday for sure. CoWF aired on Feb. 22, the day he was conceived. Nine moths later is Nov. 22. He was two days early, so...

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"_Mommy!" Chris screamed, running out of the kitchen as fast as his short little legs would carry him. "Mommy, where are you?"_

"_Chris, please! Don't scream that loud unless there's a demon in the house!" Piper scolded, catching her speeding child and hoisting him onto her hip. He was so small for five years old..._

"_There IS a demon!" Chris defended, in the classic five-year-old voice, which children usually reserved for rousing games of "Did not!" "Did too!" "Did not!"_

"_Where?" Piper inquired, skeptically. When a child tells you there's a monster in their closet, you check said closet just to humor him, and tell him his closet is monster- free. Or at least, most families do. In the Halliwell home, odds where that there WAS a monster in the closet. And a demon in the hamper. And a warlock under the sink._ _But Christopher had recently developed a horrible habit of lying, and telling tales. Paige said he was just seeking a substitute for the attention he was deprived of from his father. _

"_In the kitchen!" Chris yelled shrilly, clutching his mothers blouse with one hand, and pointing towards the door with the other._

"_Well,_ _what do you say we go and pay this "demon" a little visit, hmmm?"_

"_No!" Chris shrieked, throwing his skinny little arms around mommy's neck, burying his face in her shoulder. "It's big and hairy and I don't wanna go!" he begged, his voice only slightly muffled._

"_Ok then. How bout you sit here on the couch, and Mommy will go see what's in the kitchen. Maybe we'll have him over for dinner if he's civilized."_

"_Mom!" Chris gasped, not quite grasping the joke. Piper found this very ironic, considering that fact that her youngest was, at the tender age of five, a connoisseur of all things sarcastic._

"_I'm kidding, kidding!" Piper chuckled, settling Chris down on the couch, attempting to disentangle his tiny little fist from her hair._

_Once she had managed that task, she calmed her jittery son with a quick kiss, a made her way into the kitchen, hands at the ready to do away with any foe she encountered, be it Hell or high water._

_Demon, she was expecting, maybe a ghost gone awry was the source of her youngest sons shear terror. She was expecting any one of a number or fiendish freights..._

_A baby spider on the table wasn't one of them._

_CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH_

"_Wyatt, stop!" shrieked the seven year old witch from his perch atop the banister. "I'll go when I'm ready."_

"_Come on Chris. What are you? A witch or a mortal?" Wyatt taunted his baby brother._

_The two young Halliwells where sitting in the long polished banister on the main stairwell. They'd spent the last ten minutes doing what heir mother had explicitly told them NOT to do but did anyway; taking turns sliding down the smooth, polished mahogany railing. Well, Wyatt was sliding. Chris was mainly chickening out on his part._

"_I'm a witch," he answered defiantly, trying to infuse his voice with bravery he didn't feel. Christopher was afraid of heights. And spiders. And spooks. And water. And people..._

"_Fine then. Go!" Wyatt insisted, his patience and temper both stretching to the limit. But his voice held more then annoyance. It contained a vile bite, a venom the effects of which Chris was suffering more and more each day..._

_Chris gripped the railing tightly, looking down at the ground below. They weren't more than 12 feet above the ground, but to a seven year old who was unusually runty for his age, it was a bone-dry Niagra falls._

"_Go, Christopher, or I'll MAKE you go!" his brother snarled. Chris could feel his palms on the small of his back, waiting to give that final push._

_I-I'll go when I'm ready!" he squeaked, his voice breaking._

"_Aw. Is little Cwissy gonna cwy?" Wyatt mocked, sticking his bottom lip out in a pouting face._

"_Leave me alone Wy. I-I um, I don't think I wanna do this anymore..."_

"_You'll do it Chris!"_

"_Why?" Chris asked defiantly. But his voice was wavering like crazy._

"_Cause! I'm older, and I SAY SO!" Wyatt yelled, his short Halliwell temper fizzing out at record time._

"_You're not the boss of me! I, um, I'm gonna tell Mom!" and with that, Chris swung his leg over the side of the banister, moving to stand back on the landing._

_But Wyatt wouldn't have it. _

_It wasn't a difficult task, really. All he had to do was flip Chris swinging legs back over his tiny body..._

_Wyatt felt a sick sort of triumph in his brothers frightened scream. But for a moment, as Chris fell to the hard wood floor below, yet for a moment, a brief, fearing moment, he had the urge to orb him back up to safety, hold him and tell him he's Ok, like he used to..._

_But those days where long since past, and Wyatt's sense of good deeds lessened each day. He was the most powerful being ever born! No one, good or evil, could be a match for him, even at such a young age._

_The morality battle in his head was cut abruptly short when, with a sickening thud and a teeth-grinding Crack! Chris hit the floor._

'_God, took him long enough!' Wyatt sighed mentally, before hurrying down by his brothers side, ready to put on another scene-stealing act._

_Chris was screaming, crying as loud as he could, his body curled up tightly._

_Piper, hearing the crash and scream, came rushing into the foyer, a dish towel draped over her shoulder._

"_What happened?" She yelled, kneeling down by her youngest son. She turned towards Wyatt, who had conjured fake tears, now streaming down his face with remarkable ability._

"_I told him no-not t-to! But he-he-he wouldn't listen!" Wyatt bawled._

"_Do what?"_

"_He was sliding down the b-b-banister! You told us not t-to, but he did it anyway!" and he broke down, screeching, as if frightened for the well being of his brother, when in reality, he didn't give a damn._

"_Christopher, what the HELL where you thinking?" Piper scolded harshly._

"_B-but, Mo-m, I d-d-didn't! W-Wya-att pouched me!"_

"_Do NOT blame your brother for your own mistakes, Christopher! If you'd listen to your older brother once in a while, maybe you wouldn't be in this mess!" Piper was shrieking now, completely unaware that her child was in pain._

_Wyatt took the opportunity to slink from the room. Piper wouldn't question his disappearance. He once heard her tell his teacher that he was "A rather emotionally fragile child". She'd just assume that situation was too mush for him._

"_Mommy, p-please!" Chris sobbed, his arms wrapped tightly across his chest. "M-Mom, it- it hurts to breath!" he stuttered._

_Pipers mood softened a little, and she told Chris to lie on his back. She ran a delicate hand across his chest. A loud yelp confirmed what she already knew; he'd broken his rib in the fall._

"_See what happened when you don't listen Chris?" she sighed, exasperated. But she could scold him later. _

_She bent down, scooping him into her embrace. He snuggled against his mom, curling up into a tiny ball. She lay him on the couch, and hollered for Leo, though it was over half an hour before her decided to show his Blessed behind. He healed his son, did his own fair share of scolding, and orbed away. Just left..._

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_Chris was in bed that night, in the rather small room he shared with his brother. He was feeling lower then low. His mother and Father had scolded him for something he didn't even do! Something that wasn't his fault!_

_It didn't surprise him though. Wyatt always got away with everything. He was the first-born, the prophesied, all powerful Twice Blessed, first boy to be born a Halliwell in over 400 years._

_But Chris was only second best._

_Second most powerful_

_Second born son_

_not blessed at all._

_Suddenly, Chris heard something skid above him, across the floor of the attic. And suddenly he realized, Wyatt wasn't in bed!_

_Carefully, he got out of bed...and crawled under it. There was a vent there, and if he pressed his ear against it, he could hear conversations in every room of the manor._

"_-Never even know about it!" chuckled a gleeful Wyatt. It was a malicious laugh, one Chris was used to hearing by now. Never the less, it hade his blood freeze in his very veins._

_There was another voice, a long, slow drawl, which followed_

"_But I still don't see why you need me to make things go any faster. You're already accomplishing what you want! The girls treat him like the lesser being, always have!"_

"_But YOU can make it seem all the more real, Chris's worst fear is that his family will leave him. And as even I'm not strong enough to do away with they YET, the only way Chris will see the light is if YOU make him think they all hate him."_

"_Now, I think I'm missing something here. Tell me again why I'm taking commands from an itsy-bitsy Halliwell..."_

"_Because, Barbas! This Itsy-Bitsy Halliwell will fry your ass if you don'!" Wyatt roared deeply. "Now, start tonight-the sooner, the better. The sooner Chris come with me, the fewer strings I'll have to trim up after The Charmed Ones are dead..."_

_Chris felt his stomach seize up somewhere near his throat. Wyatt, consulting with Barbas, and..._

_Of God._

_Wyatt...no, God..._

_Wyatt was going to Kill the sisters..._

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"NO!"

Chris shot straight up in bed, yelling as loud as he could manage.

No.

Wyatt. Wyatt was going to Kill Aunt Paige, Phoebe...

He wanted to kill his own mother!

Chris had his eyes closed as tight as he possibly could, yelling No, no no, over and over again, as though the single word could make the knowledge go away, make everything alright again.

"Chris! Chris, honey, open your eyes!"

"Come on Chris. Chris?"

He was suddenly aware of people calling his name. They seemed to be yelling loudly, but he wasn't concentrating on them. All his thoughts, all his focus was on Wyatt, and what he'd just heard.

"Chris, baby, come on! Please, be here with us hon!"

The voice resounded in him, somehow bringing him to his senses, like a liferaft thrown to a drowning man.

Suddenly Chris's eyes snapped open, and after a moment he began to take in his surroundings. He was still in the hospital, he could remember that now. He was sitting straight up in bed, shaking like mad, drenched in a cold sweat. His father sat beside him on the bed, facing him as well as he could, gripping his arms tighely. Piper was at his side, sweeping his soaked bangs away from his face. He could sense other people in the room, but didn't bother to see who they where. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his mind reeling.

What the Hell was going on?

Where was Wyatt?

What was he doing here again?

"Christopher, can you hear me?_ Christopher..."_

"Wh-what?" he stuttered, feeling very out of it. He wondered for a moment if maybe he'd passed out and hit his head again.

He turned his head to his left, where the voice was coming from. A short, thin nurse stood over his bed, shaking him gently. He looked at her with hollow eyes. What the Hell was she doing here? Shit, maybe I DID pass out again!

"Can you hear us?" she asked softly, yet clearly.

"Um, uh yeah" he answered.

"Do you know where you are?"

He nodded, taking another look at the room he was in. White floor, pale blue walls, really bad pieces of art...

"Do you remember what happened Chris?" came another voice from across the room. He turned his head toward the sound, and felt his heart stop.

It was Wyatt, standing at the foot of his bed, a look personifying worry contorting his face.

Chris wanted to shout out, to tell him to get the Hell out and never come back. But all that came out was a bitter "What are YOU doing here?"

Wyatt was taken aback. He blinked a couple times to clear his thoughts, and ran his hand through his short blonde curls.

"Why do you think I'm here Chris?" he asked softly, keeping his voice calm. He was rather hurt by the bite in Chris's voice, but he'd been screaming in his sleep for the past ten minutes. He was sick, Wyatt reasoned, and probably wasn't fully aware of what he was saying.

"Well, I don't know, WYATT." Chris pondered loudly. "San Francisco Memorial isn't exactly a demonic hot-spot. You might wanna try the Underworld if you're looking for Barbas!"

All present at the time whipped around to look at Chris with expressions or shock, worry, and outrage.

"Chris, Peanut, what on Earth are you talking about?" Piper pleaded with her son. Her anxiety increased ten fold when she got a look at his eyes. Ocean blue. A color she had seen in his eyes so often 24 years ago.

Chris inherited his fathers eyes, a beautiful jade green. But whenever Chris became angry, worried or offended, they'd turn to an ice-blue cold enough to freeze time. Chris, the one they said goodbye to so many years ago, almost constantly gazed at his surroundings with arctic eyes. There where precious few occasions that he came out of his shell, his depression, and smiled, his eyes showing their true color.

The color blue never held so many meanings as it did right now.

"Yeah Chris," Wyatt continued, what ARE you talking about?"

Chris opened his mouth to answer, a nasty reply waiting impatiently at the tip of his tongue, but he was rudely silenced by the nurse, who had her hand place firmly on his shoulder.

"Please, I really don't think he knows what's going on right now," she answered Wyatt sweetly.

Chris, mortality offended, whipped his head around.

"I'm perfectly aware of what's going on!" he barked. He turned back on Wyatt, his eyes burning with both fever and hate. "What the Hell did you think you where doing? You think that just cause you're some powerful witch, you can just go and betray your family like that? What the HELL is your problem?" he finished, once again forgetting to use his inside voice.

Chris's parents where now panicking. Not only was he acting certifiably insane, but he'd mentioned the words Demon, Underworld and Witch, all in less then two minutes. Not knowing what else to do, Piper lifted her hands, and froze the room. Well, twenty years ago she would have frozen the room. Now, she knew very well that the entire floor was now a montage of living statues.

"What on Earth is going on Chris?" Piper pleaded, now that she was free to freak out.

"Ask him," Chris eyes shot daggers at his brother.

"I have no idea what you are talking about!" Wyatt defended, his voice raising.

"Don't play dumb with me, Wyatt Halliwell! I heard you that night, conspiring with BARBAS!" he wailed, leaning forward in bed to accent his point.

"Barbas? You think I'm conspiring with Barbas? I think your temperature's giving you brain damage!"

Chris, ordinarily would have laughed at his brothers poor attempt at humor. But this time...

...Something was wrong.

Chris just felt so...off. Like he was possessed. No, he'd been possessed before, and this felt different. When you're possessed, you can feel the presence controlling you, violating your body, your soul...But he felt like himself...just, a really mad, pissy self...

"Don't even lie to me Wyatt! I've had enough of your lies over the years! Ever since Mom-"

"Chris, please! Calm down" Piper begged, tears glistening in her eyes. And suddenly, something in Chris clicked. His breathing slowed down, and he felt more like himself again.

Immediately, he turned back to Wyatt," OhmyGodWyattI'mSoSorry!" he rushed, saying it all so fast. "I have no idea what made me say that! It just, I dunno, seemed like you where...you..."

"Chris, you had a nightmare" Leo spoke up, his voice soft, as though he where walking on egg shells.

"I-...I what?" Chris asked, now throughly dazed. Whf. the hell was Leo talking about?

"You have a nightmare son. You where crying in your sleep, and you woke up screaming. Do you remember?" Leo asked, in a voice people usually spoke to mentally challenged six year olds in.

Screaming. Crying..Nightmare? Falling off the banister, hearing Watt talk to demons...that had never happened. The spider, that he remembered. But the rest just seemed like a dream now. A very vivid dream...

The sudden burst of noise from the hallway told that the floor had unfroze.

"Sweetie, can you look this way a moment?" Chris jumped about a yard. He'd forgotten all about the nurse being there.

Obeying, he turned slightly,

"Do you know your name?"

The Hell? "Of course I remember my name"

"Can you tell me you birthday?" she pressed on.

Chris, after a "duh" moment, finally caught on; she thought he was delirious, and didn't have a clue what was going on.

"November 20, 2004."

"Good," she praised. "Now, lay back down,"

"I don't wanna lie down." Chris countered, just for the sake of being stubborn.

"Now, I know you don't like taking orders, you're a man, after all, but three minutes ago you where screaming nonsense. You should lay down."

Chris wanted to snap back at her, but he recalled all-too-well what happened the last time he'd pissed off the nurse. Sighing resign, he lay down, once again cursing his damn pillow.

The nurse, who's name, Chris read, was Megan, told them all the obvious. Fever's high, pulse is fast, needs to eat. Chris just tuned her out though, and tried to concentrate on that dream.

Now that he thought of it more, he remembered...

He was seven years old, almost eight. Piper had been in the kitchen all afternoon cooking supper, and he and Wyatt had decided it would be fun to slide down the staircase banister. And it was fun, until Chris slipped and fell.

But Wyatt hadn't pushed him. He hadn't crashed to the floor. Wyatt orbed him back up to the landing, held him and told him he was sorry, that he wouldn't let him fall ever again.

Wyatt had always been Chris's savior.

But when he'd woken up, it was a feeling like no other. Possessed, but...he was himself. It was like he was infected, not by a virus, but rage. Sorrow. Anger. Despair. Emotions he'd felt throughout his life, but...

...never, EVER like that...

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Soon after Nurse Megan left, it was time for lunch. And once again, Chris fought tooth and nail.

"I don't like potato soup!" he lied. Again.

"My God, Chris. Are we gonna have to wrestle with you every meal?" Piper sighed, exasperated. "I thought after you hit puberty you'd be easier to handle!"

"I AM easy to handle. I just don't want to eat right now.

Piper was more then fed up with this. His stubborn I don't need shit attitude was wearing her down. Finally, she gave up with the wheedling, and went back to bribing.

"If you eat your soup, juice and carrots, I'll tell the new waitress at P3 how much you LOVE to dance..."

The tray was clean in four minutes flat.

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longest chapter ever! I'm not promising, but I think I'll start with a liile more non-filler stuff next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

OK, thank you ALL for the great reviews! They really make my day!

Like I said, Im hoping to make this chapter with a little more meat in it's bones. The sweet Chris/Wyatt moment I planned will apear in the next couple of chapters, and for those of you who love when writers torture Chris, you'll love me in a couple chapters.

A/N the quotes are from Chris-Crossed, Prince Charmed and Spin City.You'll know 'em when ya see 'em.

Well, I've been trying to figure out this chapter for a week or more, and here it is.

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It was almost six in the afternoon, and Piper Halliwell hadn't left her sons bedside in over three hours. She couldn't bring herself to walk away from him. She just sat there, gazing down at him over the bed railings, where he lay deeply asleep. Usually, it would have been a counted blessing for Chris to finally rest a while, and it WAS best for him, but Piper would have felt much better herself if he was awake, arguing about this-and-that. Chris fought about everything, whether ot not is was worth fighting over. He refused to show weakness of any kind, ever, and so it scared his family a little when he settled down early that afternoon and let himself fall asleep without being made to.

Piper, Paige and Phoebe where sitting around Chris's side of the room, talking. Well, arguing actually. And, for a change, it Chris wasn't the topic up for discussion. His cousin Coraline was. Apparently, she was developing a bit of a rebellious streak. They debated for over thirty minutes on the subject, when Piper suddenly realized that Chris had been rather silent. Turning around, she saw why.

Her son was sleeping peacefully, turned over almost on his stomach. His mouth was parted slightly as he breathed, and one arm was brought up on his pillow by his face. His dark hair tumbled down into his face, obscuring his features. Her heart melted in her chest. Witch might have been his dominant side, but her youngest had always looked every bit of an angel.

"Aww, isn't that sweet?" Phoebe squealed loudly, and Piper turned around sharply to give her a "You wake up my baby, and you'll THINK sweet." glare.

It was hours later, and Chris had barely stirred. She would have to wake him up soon to eat, though, and wasn't looking forward to the argument. He might usually fight against sleep, but he fought harder when woken up. He was NOT a morning person.

"Hey, Piper," Leo greeted his wife a moment alter, walkning into the room and handing his wife a can of pop. "How's he doing?"

"Sound asleep, hasn't moved a muscle," she replied, popping the top off the Pepsi.

Leo nodded, studying his youngest sons face. "It'll do him good to rest more, he'll get over this faster."

"Yeah, but what IS 'this'? Piper worried aloud.

Throughout the day, Chris had gone through more tests, had more blood drawn, was examined by four different doctors. And they STILL had no idea wht it was he had. Piper was sure that, no matter what the diagnoses, not knowing was far worse then any illness her son could have.

"I just don't know, Piper." he replied softly, his eyes never leaving his sons thin form. "I just don't know,"

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"Chris, sweet heart, wake up," Piper cooed, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Mmmm.." came Chris's reply.

"Don't 'mmmmm' me. Now wake up, your supper's getting cold."

"Grr."

"What, do we have to bribe you to wake up now too?" Piper laughed, as Chris opened one hazy eye.

"Why would you bribe me to wake up?" he asked, his voice quiet and slurring.

"Because, we can't even get you to eat for free anymore! Remeber?"

Chris was quiet for a moment. No, he didn't remember...

"Yeah, OK." He lied, turning over slowly, his limbs aching.

"It's spaghetti and chicken broth. What's the bidding going at?" Wyatt joked lightheartedly, though he was worried about how Chris would react to seeing him there again.

"Bite me, Wy,"

Wyatt just cackled.

Leo, after placing a couple pillows behind Chris's back, moved the tray over his bed. "I don't want to see a CRUMB left on this plate, you hear me?" he warned, his voice a little more tense then he intended.

Though to everyones immense surprise, Chris, sans argument, picked up his fork and begabn to eat.

It took a moment for him to realize that there was three pairs of eyes staring intently at him.

"Hello. Can I help you?" he asked, smirking slightly.

"Smart ass," Wyatt accused. "We're just shell shocked that we didn't have to promise you anything to get you to eat."

Chris's face was blank as he locked eyes with his brothers. He opened his mouth to ask what the Hell he meant...but the words he spoke next where not what he planned to say.

"I think you know me better then that!" he whispered icily, glaring at his brother with a look of pure hatred, and his eyes, they where a chilling blue...

"What?" Wyatt cocked his head to one side, as his parents looked at their son with expressions of panic. It was happening again...

"And why are you pretending to care anyway? It's always been about power for you! And whoever has the most powers wins, is that it?" his voice was pure poison, biting deep like fangs.

"Chris, honey, please, you don't know what your talking about," Piper pleaded, trying to sooth him.

"Don't call me 'honey', Piper!"! He yelled rounding on his mother now. "YOU'RE the one who said you never wanted to see me again!"

"Chris, please! Listen to us. You're not thinking clearly righ..."

But Chris wouldn't listen to them. Piper looked over at Leo with tears streaming down her face. She just didn't understand! What was wrong with her baby boy?

"Shut the fuck up LEO! You have no right to tell me what to do!" and with that he wrenched his arm out of his fathers grip, and turned violently from him, accidently knocking his supper tray off the table and sending hot food into his lap.

"Shit! He cursed, and he scorched his leg with steaming soup.

"What's going on in here? the nurse from this morning demanded, sticking her head in the door.

"Um, we had a bit of an accident,"Leo started, while Wyatt went into the bathroom to get some paper towels.

"Oh, that's nothing new. We'll just get you cleaned up and change the bedding hmm?" and she left the room to search through the linen closet.

After she was gone, Leo turned and put is hand on Chris's back, and leaned over to see him better.

He was staring blankly ahead, his eyes wide, as though frightened. He was trmbling now, and was pale.

"Chris, peanut, can you hear me?" Piper asked tentatively. She didn't want to send him off the edge again...

He nodded slowly, his mind reeling.

"_Its all about power, it's as simple as that._

"_And whoever has the most power wins, is that it?_

"_That's it."_

But he'd never said that to...to whoever he was talking to. Wyatt? Why would Wyatt care only about power?

"Come on," Leo spoke softly. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit,"

Chris blinked a few times, as though clearing his mind, and nodded slowly. Leo, keeping one hand on his back, reached across him, taking hold of his forearm, and guided him out of bed. He stumbled as soon as he stood up, leaning heavily against his father. He was still so out of it...

"It's OK, I gotcha," Leo assured him, leading him to the bathroom, just as Wyatt walked out.

"Anything I can do Dad?" he asked, taking in Chris's disheveled appearance.

"Keep you mother company," he responded simply, and Wyatt complied.

He closed the door behind them, and, putting the lid down on the stool, sat Chris down slowly.

''You alright?" he asked before letting go.

"Yeah, I'm-I'm OK," Chris replied, becoming a bit more lucid.

Leo turned on the sink taps, and helped Chris out of his gown while the water warmed.

"I'm sorry," Chris mumbled his head down.

"About what?" Leo pressed on gently, his voice soft.

"About...everything. Bursting out like that, making such a mess..."

"Hey, stop it! It was just an accident. Look, I know this is really hard for you, it's..."

"You don't know me!" Chris shouted, his voice sharp enough to cut diamonds. He instantly clamped his hand over his mouth, tears forming in his eyes.

"It's alright son, it's gonna be OK," Leo said, gently rubbing circles across Chris's back.

But, suddenly, Leo wasn't so sure.

'_You don't know me'. _

_Chris yelled over and over. You don't KNOW me!_

_He'd been so angry, Leo had never EVER seen eyes that held so much pain, betrayal..._

"Dad?"

"What is it?" Leo asked instantly.

Chris took a shuddering breathe, and lifted his head, making eye contact with his father.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Leo felt as though someone had just ripped out his heart. He couldn't stand to see his son like this, he just couldn't take it! He looked so fragile right then, so weak...

"They don't know yet, Chris, but they're worki..."

"No! Not like that. I mean...why is all this happening to me? I don't MEAN to say this stuff, it just come out!" Chris howled despairingly.

Leo caught a sob rising in his throat. He placed his hand under Chris's chin, gently rasing his face up to meet his eyes.

"It's nothing you can help, Chris. As high as your temperature is, it's not surprising that you'd be a little disoriented." Leo answered, holding Chris tightly in his arms. And really, it was true. His temperature continued to hover over 103, that's make anyone go a little out of it. He just didn't mention that's he'd been in better health the LAST time he'd yelled those words at his father.

_You don't know me_

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OK, not as much meat as I'd planned, but I also hadn't planned on stopping rigt here. Just happened. Oh, well, please, the more you review, the faster I update!


	10. Chapter 10

Yeah, yeah, it's been forever and a day since I updated. But with Forensics season starting, and the Scholastic Art Show just around the corner, it's hard t find time to sit and write. But here it is! And that you ALL for all the great reviews! I feel a little bad for spoiling things about Leo for our overseas friends though...

Also, Chris/Bianca in this chapter, though it's strictly PG rated, of course! Don't like her? Oh well. I love her, so I'm putting her in! Lol.

Also again. I swear to whatever being took pity on my poor little soul and put it on earth, that starting at tonites cliffie, there WILL be meat to my story! Not just the dry, crumbly stuffing in the turkey, but the actual white/dark meat, gravy and all! (AND, YES, I am VERY HUNGRY. We have a half gallon of milk, some Kroger cheese, spaghetti sauce, no spaghetti though, and some BBQ sauce in our fridge. Turkey with the trimmings sounds reeeeealll good right now...) And I must admti, I'm glad to finally be done with the filler! This chapter was Hell on a stick to write!

A/N. My new favorite show is Supernatural. Why say that? You'll see.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"Leo? Are you coming to bed?"

"Yeah, in a little bit," Leo responded to his wife, staring out te window into the velvety black California sky, sprinkled with a light dusting of stars. He remembered his mother, all those years ago, taking him to the Fourth of July picnic every year. It was dark, pitch black, and when the stars started to shine and twinkle, she'd pull him close, and whisper, "Make a wish..."

"Leo, it's one in the morning. You need to sleep." Piper pulled her nightgown close around her, setting herself down on the balcony chair, next to her husband, taking his hand.

"Maybe I should just orb over there, see if he's sleeping OK.."

"God, Leo, paranoid much?" Piper half heartedly joked. Halfheartedly. The other half of her heart was breaking. "I'm worried too, Leo. But Chris needs to rest, and he won't get any of that if we keep popping in and out of his room all night."

Leo nodded, still staring off into space, pondering his thoughts...

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCP.

"Hey, Wyatt?"

"Yup"

"What's a three letter word for mule?"

"Good God, are we back on that kick again?"

"Yup."

It was just after Chris's little accident, and Wyatt was keeping him company. He flipped through the channels, and found another old show. This one was pretty good. It had two brothers, Don and Sal, or something like that, who drove across country doing the ghost hunting thing. The 'ghosts' where actually pretty well done, and the writing was very dramatic.

"Donkey."

"Three letters, Einstein!"

"Jesus! Gimme a break!"

"Ok, if that's too challenging, how 'bout...a six letter word for prostitute? That should be right up your ally!" Chris prompted.

"Bianca."

"Watch it, you sonofabi-"

"Now, now, Chrissy, don't talk about mom like that! Hooker."

"Oh, you lecture me about parental respect, then call mom a hooker!"

"A six letter word for prostitute. Hooker."

"Oh. Um, right, yeah..."

"What kind of magazine has 'hooker' as an answer anyways?" Wyatt wanted to know.

"Dunno. I only stole one page from the cart," Chris gnawed on the eraser of his pencil, referring to the cart that a nurse would bring around in the afternoon, and sell papers for fifty cents.

"You stole it?" Wyatt guffawed. "Brother Chris, can do no wrong, stole a newspaper off the cart!"

"God, Wy! It was a fifty cent paper! If you ask me, taking that fifty cents away from us invalids is an injustice!" he stated, smirking, as he wrote in another answer. "Besides, I wanted to get back at the nurse who brought the cart around."

"Why?"

"Came in about three times this afternoon, asking if I wanted a sponge bath."

"Hmm, doesn't sound like a bad idea." Wyatt responded, his mind in the gutter. "You find that a bad thing?"

Chris brought the paper down, glaring at Wyatt. "His name was Anthony" he dead panned, causing Wyatt to wince.

"Yeah, ouch!" He said then decided to go all smart ass and asked, "Think he'd look good in a mini skirt?"

"Ass"

"Hey, I was just being funny!" he defended.

"Not you! The mule!"

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( earlier, like...sixish...)

"Hey, Chris! Guess who I picked up off the street?" Wyatt laughed as he entered the room.

"A hooker" Chris mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. He wasn't asleep, just resting. His dad had helped him change into a clean gown, and his bedding was changed. After all the getting up and walking (when walking to the bathroom and washing turned into cardio, he didn't know) he was exhausted, weary, and ready for another nap.

His humor, though, wasn't appreciated. In fact, his attempt at wit was met with an exaggerated "Hooker? You call your girlfriend a hooker!"

"Bianca?" Chris gasped, open eyed and gaping mouthed. He was rewarded with the effort, though, as Bianca, looking fine as always, came quickly up to him, and wrapped her arms around him warmly.

"Mmm. How'd you know I was here?" he asked, suddenly feeling a lot better, a rather goofy grin on his face.

"Wyatt called me a while ago. Mom gave me the message." she answered, holding him close. He returned the gesture, contentedly breathing in the scent of her hair. Coconut. Her hair always smelled like coconut...

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, he embrace loosening into a welcome hold. She could feel the heat from his cheek against her own, reminding her that this wasn't just another afternoon for the two of them.

"Ehh...I've been better," he admitted, giving Bianca puppy-dog eyes.

Wyatt nearly choked on his coffee. Had Chris just admitted to not feeling well? Damn, did he feel THAT bad?

He realized, though, in a matter of seconds why Chris hadn't pulled his "I feel fine!" schtick...

Bianca, 'awww'ing, settled herself down on the edge of Chris's bed, placing her hand delicately on his cheek. "You poor thing, Wyatt told me you weren't feeling well at all. I came over as soon as I got his message. Anything I can get for you?"

My brothers a genius! Wyatt thought, trying in vain to keep from laughing. Takes after me! Knows just what to say to make the chics turn to mush!

Chris winked slightly at Wyatt over Bianca's shoulder, indicating that his train of thought perfectly matched Wyatts.

Chris leaned into her touch, putting on the parr, sickly little-boy act...though it really wasn't an act at all.

"Mmmm...I gotta headache," he offered the information, and was rewarded with a warm kiss on the forehead. Then the cheek, then the...

"Hel-_lo_ Bianca, sweetie! How's your mother?" quipped Piper, entering the room once more, Paige and Phoebe following close.

She'd seen where Bianca's lips where heading, and she wasn't having any of it!

"Oh! Um, hi, Mrs. Halliwell! Uh, nice to see you again!" she stammered, quickly pulling herself away from Chris.

"You too hon," Piper said, her voice more sincere now that she wasn't lip locked with her youngest.

"Hey, Bianca, ever think he mighta been contagious?" Phoebe smirked, thinking the situation was rather cute!

"Hey, yeah," Paige agreed, slinging a welcoming arm around her nephew. "Hey, Piper? They ever check him for mono?" and Phoebe and Wyatt burst out laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, REAL cute! Tell you one thing, Chrissy, I find out you have mono, and you'll be grateful to already be in the hospital when I kick your a-"

"-And who might this young lady be?"

Piper turned a deep scarlet color as Chris's doctor cut off her words. 'Sure, Piper, good going! Make a total ass of yourself!' she thought bitterly.

"I, um, I'm Bianca, are you Chris's doctor?" she got straight to the point. Chris smiled ever-so-slightly to himself. If anyone could light a fire under the hospital staffs feet, it was Bianca!

"Yes, I'm Dr. Ollrich, pleased to meet you," he extended his hand, but Bianca either didn't see it, or didn't care.

"So what's wrong with him?" she asked, her voice authoritative. Chris caught his Aunt Paiges eye, and they both smirked at each other. Paige knew all too well from experience that when Bianca was on a roll, she didn't stop until SHE wanted to.

Dr. Ollrich, slightly taken aback by her bluntness, blinked for a moment. "Well, we don't know yet, but we're still doin–"

"He's been here since Saturday, and you still don't know?"

The doctor then did a very good impression of a wide mouthed bass flopping on the shore. Before he could try to defend himself, Piper called of the dogs.

"Bianca, sweetie, please don't hit the doctor. It's not helping Chris's case if his physician ends up in trauma." Piper smiled slightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She'd taken her seating at Chris's bedside, and had gently draped her hand across her sons. She knew he still had the 'Moo-oom!' response about being coddled by his mother in front of the ladies, but she couldn't help herself.

Bianca, who still had the fight instinct of a Phoenix, backed down reluctantly, then, nudging him over, crawled onto the bed next to Chris, nestling up against him.

"So, you still don't know?" Piper sighed audibly.

Dr. Ollrich shook his head. "I'm sorry, we don't. We've run tests for most common illnesses he could have contracted, some more rare diseases; we checked him for chronic diseases, all came back negative,"

"Hey, yeah, 'him' is in the room, and doesn't mind if people talk to 'him' directly" Chris announced to all present. He waved his arm for added effect, though halfheartedly, as though it took to much energy...

"Jeez, Chris, get all touchy!" Bianca laughed, pulling him close.

"Yeah, cause we all know what an emotional train-wreck Chris can be!" Phoebe smirked, cackling. It was more of an inside joke than anything, though. This Chris was open, more honest about how he felt (without jeopardizing a chance to look 'macho') Though the first Chris had done everything in his power to hide his emotions.

Bianca smiled at the attempted humor, though she didn't get the real joke behind it. "God, Chris. Maybe I should buy you a box of tissue for your birthday!" And everyone laughed politely.

Everyone except Chris.

Chris stiffened noticeably in Biancas arms. He suddenly jerked out of her grasp, and glared at her with chilling blue eyes...

"How can you be so cold?" he demanded of her, his voice biting like acid, as though he meant to hurt her with words.

Piper sucked in a deep breath, knowing-hoping-that this would pass soon. But...what if he couldn't shake it this time? He was a Halliwell, after all, and the Halliwells lived under a strict code of Murphy's Law.

"Ch-Chris? What did you say?" Bianca stammered, shocked more than anyone at the color of Chris's eyes, the hatred in his voice.

Chris took a moment to shake off his mothers touch, and glare at her. Hurt, she backed away, her breath catching in her chest.

"You heard me, you little witch!" he snapped threateningly. "I cried for you, Bianca, when you died. I cried for weeks on end! And then you have the nerve to come back, and talk to me like this?"

"Christopher, what in the name os God are you talking about!" Bianca shrilled, getting off the bed, away from Chris. "What's wrong with you!"

Suddenly, Chris's entire demeanor changed. His eyes turned back to a beautifu; jade green, and he smiled sadly. " 'Haven't we been here before?' That's what you asked me. Haven't we? I've been here, but I just don't remember!" He broke down in tears, pulling his knees up to his chest, his hair gripped tightly in his hands. "I just don't remember any of it!"

Chris started to sob openly. He knew he had scared Bianca, frightened his aunts and mother, but mst of al...he was scaring himself. He knew when he was having another outburst, and tried to say something, ANYthng else, but the words that came from his mouth where not his. Well, they where...he had the oddest feelings of deja vu when this happened. He felt like he was quoting from a movie he'd seen years ago, very vivid and yet...so distant, so long ago that he couldn't even remember the metaphorical title.

Bianca stood there, in the middle of the floor, as both Piper and the doctor rushed towards Chris. Piper wrapped her arm around his shoulder, holding him, and Dr. Ollrich tried his best to get Chris to calm down enough to speak coherently again.

"Bianca?"

The young Witch turned around at the sound f her name. It was Phoebe speaking to her. She hid her pain well, masking it with a calm mask.

"What?" she whispered.

"I don't think we're needed in here right now," she hinted, and she, Bianca, and Paige filed out of the room, each taking one last glance at the three still in the room.

"What's going on? What's wrong with him!" Bianca demanded, smears of make up running down her cheeks. It wasn't Chris's words that had her upset..well, not entirely. It was the looks in his eyes. He had looked so lost, so frightened. She had never, ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

"Sweetie, why don't you sit down?" Phoebe suggested, leading her down the hall and into an empty waiting room.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked again, her trademark temper beginning to flare.

"Hon, we don't know yet," Paige said quietly. "But...Bianca,...' she paused, not knowing how to put this.

"Bianca, we don't know what Chris has yet, but he's gotten very sick," Phoebe said, just trying to get it over with quickly.

"No, he's not!" Bianca argued. "He was fine when I first came in"

"It was an act." Phoebe continued, not stumbling at all with her accusation. "You know how Chris never wants anyone to worry, doesn't want to cause trouble. He hides how ill he feels, so his parents won't get worried."

"But what was up with him back there? If he doesn't want to worry us, then he's doing a piss-poor job of it!"

Paige and Phoebe stole a glance at each other, that meant more than Bianca could decipher. Each could tell from the other : they knew. They knew now what Leo had discovered, only hours ago.

"It's like we said, honey, he's sick, and.." Paige couldn't keep her voice from breaking. "And he's not getting any better, since we don't know what he has yet. But I promise, he's going to get better, 'cause that's just the way Chris is!"

Bianca nodded, wanting to believe them SO badly!

"Why don't you get yourself cleaned up, get something to eat. We'll call you if anything changes." Phoebe offerd gently. She wasn't trying to get her out of the way, she just didn't think this was the best time for her to be here. And they needed to talk to Piper, see if she knew...

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

When they walked back into the room, they found Chris, calm now, laying on his side, Piper cradleing his head in her lap, Wyatt sitting at his side as a nurse swabbed the skin right above the crook of his elbow, and deftly inserted a needle, slowly emptying the contents. Piper looked up long enough to bring her finger to her lips, a sign for her sisters to stay quiet.

When the nurse was done, she made her exit, leaving Dr. Ollrich to talk to the girls and Chris in private.

"What did you give him?" Paige asked quietly, closing the door behind he.

"Antipyretic. Should bring his fever down faster." the doctor responded, gesturing the sisiers to take a seat.

"How do you feel peanut?" Piper asked gently, not moving from her position.

Chris sighed softly. "OK, I guess." He knew that he looked like Hell, and that no one was going to take his word, but...old habits die hard.

In truth, he felt horrible. He was cold...so cold, and he shivered slightly. His head hurt terribly, pounding with every beat of his heart. He wasn't tired at all, yet...he kept feeling himself drift off. He probably would have a difficult time explaining it, but... he just felt out of it.

He'd listened to his family talking earlier, and when he'd put in his two cents worth, it turned out tha t what he said wasn't at all what they had been talking about. It happened about four times that afternoon, and each time, his father would immediately lean over and feel his forhead, trying to coax him into taking a nap.

"Well?" he heard his mother prompt, a note of annoyance in her voice.

"Well," Dr. Ollrich continued. " I think he-you-" he saved himself with a glare from Chris. "Are just disoriented. You're body's weak, and is having trouble fighting off the illness, which explains the high temperature, of course, and I think you're just not quite coherent."

"That's it? We could have figured that out ourselves." Paige 'duh'ed.

"Look, I know you're stressed out, all of you are, but until we find a diagnosis, there isn't much we can do. His fever's high, and he's a little out of it. That's all there is to the aspect at hand."

Piper was about to throw a little snark his way, when his pager went off, and he excused himself.

After he left, Paige said, "Piper? Um, can we talk to you a sec?"

"What about?" she asked, her gaze focused on her son, who was starting to drift off.

"We just...need to talk to you." Phoebe continued, wringing her hands.

Piper, kowing her sisters nervous habits, nodded once, and gently eased herself away from Chris, kissing his cheek, and promising to be back soon.

"'Kay," her mumbled, nearly asleep.

Out in the hallway, Piper started in, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Well, I...we...um, maybe we should call Leo. And Wyatt." Paige suggested.

"Leo, yes, but not Wyatt."

"Will somebody please fill me in!"

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"What are you saying? That Chris is experiencing the Ghost of Lives Past or something?" Piper asked, more than a little peturbed. Nuts! The where all nuts! They,they just had to be...

"I don't know sweetie," Phoebe consoled her sister. "But I just don't see any other explanation."

"But I don't understand!" Piper shrilled, grasping her husbands hand tightly. He hadn't said a single word..."Why would he be remembering all of...that..."

"Piper, we all knew he was reincarnated into this Chris when he died," Paige started.

"And if my past life...and Paiges...and Leo's...could al come back to bite us in the ass, then why not Chris's?"

"Yeah, it's like a family right of passage! Turn evil, wear an ugly wig, try to kill your siblong, and fight your past life! Heh.." Paiges withering wit made her say.

"I just...Maybe it's not that! Maybe he's just delirious, like Dr. Ollrich said..."

"Then how would he remember Bianca dying?" Paige countered, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"And that you said you never wanted to see him again," Phoebe continued.

Piper couldn't handle this. The fact that her baby boy, her youngest, was reliving all those horrors..he knew what had happened, sure, but they never EVER told him the details!

"It just can't be true...it CAN'T!" she declared, her voice final.

"'You don't know me.'"

"What?" all three sisters asked at once, turning towards Leo. He had been totally silent until now.

"You don't know me. That's what he said 23 years ago, in the Spider Demons lair? Over and over again, he yelled 'You don't know me.'" He looked up at Piper, tears filling the green orbs that his son in question had inherited. "He said it again this afternoon, in the bathroom. He turned cold, and he yelled it at me. 'You don't know me.'

"But...but...why now? Why is he suddenly remembering everything?" Piper asked, her voice quivering.

"I don't think he's remembering, hon. He seems just as baffled as we are."

"Then WHAT is going on!" Piper demanded, raising her voice higher than she should.

""Piper calm down," Leo requested. "I..I think that, well, when Chris was reborn, the other Chris was re-born into his body, right?" the girls all nodded. "Well, I think, as he grew, and acquired memories of his own...maybe..." he furrowed his brow concentrating. "Maybe he repressed those memories into his subconscious, like people do when they're abused, you know?"

"Then why are they all coming back now?"

"He's weak, like his doctor said, we can all see that! And he's disoriented. He-hewell, maybe since he's so weak, so out of it, they're...I dunno...resurfacing?"

Piper sighed, running her hand through her hair.

"Sounds plausible, I guess. But, one thing. We are NOT telling Chris that these are memories, got it? We're not!"

All three nodded in agreement.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"Wyatt?" Chris mumbled, stirring.

"Yeah, what is it?" Wyatt asked, going to his other side, to hear him better.

"'m thirsty," He said, voice slurring slightely.

Wyatt poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, then asked, "Can you sit up?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can you sit up, Chris?" he repeated.

Chris pushed himself up on his elbow, then gfell back down with a flump.

Wordlessly, Wyatt eased his arm behind Chris, lifting his torso off the bed, and against him.

"Here, drink," he urged softly, holding the cup against Chris's lips, as Chris drank avidly. When he was done, Wyatt set the cup back down, and lowered Chris onto his pillow.

"Wyatt?"

"Yeah?"

Chris blinked a few times, nearly asleep again. "I'm tired. Will you ask Eric to take note for me in class today?"

"Chris, it's night. It's not time to g to class," Wyatt said softly.

" I know mom'll get pissed, but I'm really tired. Eric'll take notes for me," and he fell asleep, leaving Wyatt to keep watch over his brother.

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"Leo, come on, you need sleep just as much as I do." Piper insisted standing up.

Leo sighed, and followed siut. They had left the hospital hours ago, promising they'd be back early tomorrow. He'd been sleeping soundly as they left, but Leo, as he had told Chris, had picked up his worrying from Piper.

Piper took his hand, and they started up the stairs. I was late, really late, and she was right, they both needed sleep. Paige and Phoebe had gone to bed hours ago, and Wyatt too. Though Piper had a suspicion that none of them were actually asleep.

Leo had just crawled into bed, with Piper about to do the same, when the phone rang.

If the sound of a ringing phone could be heart stopping it was now.

'Wrong number,' Piper told herself as she reached for the receiver. '

Just a wrong number.

Leo

s eyes stayed on her like a hawk, as she picked up the phone, brought it to her ear and said a shaky, "Hello?"

"Hello? Is this Mrs. Piper Halliwell?"

Pipers heart beat wildly in her chest, pumping ice cold blood throughout her body.

"Yes," she answered, he voice small and strained.

"Mrs. Halliwell, this is Dr. Ollrich. I'm afraid... Chris's condition has taken a turn, and...and I suggest you get to the hospital as soon as possible."

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Yeah! Cliffies! Oh, by the way, that wasn't the Chris/Wyatt moment I have planned. Mine's longer. I hope you enjoy the LONGEST CHAPTER I EVER WROTE! And please remeber to feed the author. She lives on a steady diet of reviews.

ALSO...I think, emphasis on THINK, that next chapter is when we find out what's wrong with Chris. Stay tuned!


	11. Chapter 11

First, thank you all SO MUCH for the reviews, I've never gotten so many on one chapter before! You guys are great. Hmm... maybe I should leave chapters ending in horrible turmoil more often...

Important A/N as I said, we will find out why Chris is so sick in this chapter, and I want to apologize right now. The illness Chris has is the illness I was planning to give him when I first started this fic. After about three chapters, I decided to change it to something else, though I had no idea what that would be. But after last chapter, I searched medical encyclopedias, the internet, google, fact monster, and I couldn't find the kind of thing I was looking for. I didn't want to take the easy way out and give him an 'rare' illness I had just made up (I owe you guys more than that!) So I went back to the original malady. However, since I went about five chapters thinking I wouldn't be using that sickness, some of the symptoms don't quite add up. I hope that this doesn't end up letting you down, or disappointing you. But just go with me, ok?

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Piper felt as though her heart had turned to ice. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even think, but for one thought, going through her head over and over again...

'My baby, Oh my God, Chris, my baby...'

He was worse, he was so sick when she left, and now...

"Piper...?" came Leo's strained voice.

Blinking profusely, Piper snapped back into the moment. She turned around to the sound of the voice.

Leo stood right behind her, his hand on her shoulder, looking as though he was expecting someone to hit him in the face.

"Piper? What is it?". As though he needed to ask. He could tell by the look on his wifes face. She looked so very lost, her eyes wide, and when she spoke, her voice shook like mad.

"I-it was the...the hospital. Chris...h-h-he...we need to..to...we need to go!" she finally spat out. Leo could feel her whole body shaking against him.

"What did he say? Is Chris...?" Leo was shocked. He knew, deep down, what was wrong the moment the phone rang, but...a part of him, like Piper, prayed that it wasn't about Chris. That it was a prank caller, or a wrong number, or...anything else.

But it wasn't. His son had taken a turn for the worse, and he needed them. Oh God, Chris...

"Leo, now! We need to go now!" Piper screeched, flying out of her stupor and into a fevered frenzy. She hurriedly tugged a day old t shirt over her head, then threw a pair of jeans at her dazed husband.

"I'm...I'm going to get Wyatt. He'll kill us if we leave another note. And Phoebe, and Paige..Leo, God damn it! Hurry the Hell up!"

The panic in Piper voice snapped Leo out of it, and he quickly pulled on his jeans, grabbing a jacket out of the closet.

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"Wyatt! Wyatt, honey, wake up now!" Piper roughly shook her oldest, who lay snoring on the living room couch.

"Huh..wha? What is it?" he asked groggily, his short curls mussed and hanging over his dazed blue eyes.

"Get up, get dressed, we have to go back to the hospital!" Piper dead panned, picking up Wyatts jeans from the floor.

Wyatt. Instantly wide awake, felt his heart leap up into his throat.

"Why? What happened!"

This was too much. Just too much for the witch. She closed her eyes tightly against the world, grabbing her hair roughly in her hands.

"It's Chris. His doctor called, said we need to get there now!" she sounded like she was about to loose it. Her mind kept playing all the possible scenarios over and over in her mind. And she knew that none of them could be nearly as bad as what would be waiting for them at San Francisco Memorial.

"Just..just get dressed!" she finished, leaving the room in a hurry, and leaving Wyatt to his own panicking.

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four and a half minutes later, The entire Halliwell family was crowded into Pipers SUV. Leo was at the wheel, Piper next to him, with Wyatt and her sisters in the back. Piper had insisted on orbing, But Leo had argued that they couldn't. The doctor had only called five minutes ago, and he would be suspicious if they got there that fast.

Piper wanted to argue- what did she care if some bastard got suspicious!- but they had not ime to battle it out. They all piled into the car, half dressed, and took off.

No one said a word, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

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Leo drove in silence, not caring how many speed limits and traffic violations he was breaking. Half way there, he couldn't help but wish they had orbed. Chris needed them, not in fifteen minutes, but NOW.

Just like he had needed Leo twenty three years ago...and Leo hadn't gotten there in time. He'd taken too long, been too late...He wouldn't make that mistake again!

It hurt him, every day. Every single God damned day, to look at his youngest son, coming down to breakfast with his hair standing in a hundred different directions, laughing a rough housing with his brother, looking at Leo with those green eyes... To see him, alive and well, and remember how much he had gone through. Seeing his family die before him, watching his only living relative, his own brother, destroy the world, watching as his fiance died...

And lying there, on his mothers bed, suffering terribly, blood flowing freely from the deep wound in his stomach, as he looked up at his father, putting every ounce of trust in his father. Depending on him to save his life, to make it stop hurting, to save his brother if he himself couldn't be...

Everytime Leo looked at Chris, that's what he saw first. The young boy, lying on bloody sheets, gasping for breathe. He saw hin first, and his living child second. But he'd been reassured when he saw him alive, healthy, up and active. Giving his parents Hell, tormenting his cousins...

And now, rushing to the hospital, he didn't have that reassurance. His mind flipped constantly between the worst two moments he could remember; Chris, taking his last breath in his arms, and seeing him lying there on a hospital bed, his eyes sunken, his skin sallow and warm...

And his mind, like Pipers, kept imagining the worst case scenario. And he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. He couldn't hold his son in his arms again, and watch his life fade away...

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It was past two when the Halliwell's all came running through the automatic main doors of the hospital, and mad a b line for the front nurses station.

"We need to see doctor Ollrich" Piper demanded, point blank, as her family all crowded around her, pent up on nervous energy.

The nurse sitting at the desk didn't even look up from her magazine when repying, "Dr. Ollrich isn't available at the moment. You'll have to wait."

"No. Hey, HEY!" Piper slammed her hand down on the desk, startling the young lady who whipped her head up. "We need to speak with Dr. Ollrich now!"

"Ma'am, please. Dr. Ollrich is with a patient right now, and he can't just come all the way down here to speak with you!"

And that was all it took for Pipers already lit fuse to go off.

"Listen lady, we got a call from Dr. Ollrich not twenty minutes ago concerning my son. He told us to get down here immediately. We're here, now where is he?" she shrilled,.alarming her family and everyone else currently in the lobby.

Her face red with anger, the nurse shuffled through a small stack of memos on her desk, then, reading off a slip, she asked, "Mrs. Halliwell?"

"Yes." Piper responded impatiently.

The nurse sighed, and said, "Dr. Ollrich is currently tending to your son, Ma'am. When he is through, he come down and speak with you. But you'll have to wait for him." exasperated (and glad to have the lunatics out of her hair) she pointed down the hall to a waiting room.

Grabbing Leo's arm, she turned on her heel and, followed by her sisters and oldest, made thier way down the hall.

The room was non descript. Blue-gray walls, gray carpet, blue apostered chairs and benches; it was just as plain as any other hospital waiting room. They had made an unsuccessful attempt to make the room appear calming to nervous families. They had failed miserably. The family sat down in the chairs nearest the door; Piper right nest to Leo, he sisters across the aisle, and Wyatt on her other side.

There where two other people in the waiting room; a young Asian couple. They looked exhausted, probably had been there for hours.

Had the circumstances been any different, Piper would have been inclined to pity them, feel sorry for them. But at the moment, she didn't give a damn about anyone else but her family. Her husband, who was slumped in his chair, staring off into space, her eldest son. Who sat silently, idly pulling at a loose string on his jacket, her sisters, who sat lost in thier own thoughts, Paige with tears running down her face...

And her baby. Her youngest child. Who was somewhere in the hospital, without his family and in the company of strangers. Sick, perhaps scared, wondering if his family would show...

God, this couldn't be happening; whatever 'this' was. Did they find out what was wrong? Was he even conscious? Was he in pain, cold, asleep?

God, she thought again, this can not be happening.

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_Chris felt as though he where on a boat; moving, rocking, swaying. And it was making him feel a bit nauseous. He must be out on deck or something, because it was so cold, he was shivering. He felt dizzy; he didn't know which way was up. He just felt like he was spinning, round and round...maybe a whirlpool?_

_He tried to open his eyes; if the boat was in a whirlpool, he's have to get away, orb out, something, but first he needed to see what was going on. But his eyes felt so heavy, so heavy..._

_He tried again, tried to open his eyes, just a crack. And he succeded this time. His eyes, feeling like lead, finally opened a tiny bit, enough to assess where he was._

_It was bright. Sun must be out, he thought. But then, why is it SO cold? He closed his eyes against the light, kept them closed a moment longer, then tried again. It was easier this time, and his eyes opened further. _

_And he knew immediately that he wasn't in a boat. He was...somewhere else...though he wasn't sure where. But there where bright, panel lights over him, moving...No, wait...HE was moving. But how? And where was he?_

_Chris was getting frustrated by now. He tried to turn his head, but found it was just too hard. It took too much effort._

_And it hurt to try. Everything hurt actually, like he'd been beaten..._

_Suddenly, it came to him...demons! There must have been a demon attack on the manor. But this wasn't the manor, sure wan't...oh shit! He must have gotten knocked out. Knocked out and kidnaped. Oh well, no problem. He'd been kidnaped by demons before. And warlocks, and hags..._

_But he'd been able to fight then...and now, he couldn't even move his head. They must have tied him down, beat him up...he hurt everywhere._

_And then he heard sounds. Mumbles, squeaks, beeping...Wait. Mumbles? Voices. What ever demons it was, they where close by..._

_Now, Chris was trained to fight, knew how to kill any being not only with his powers, but with his bare hands. But...he couldn't even move to defend himself, let alone fight._

_And the strange thing, was the voices don't seem to be getting closer...actually they seemed really close already..._

_Chris's eyes suddenly shot open in fright; where were they? WHAT where they?_

_And then something moved into his line of vision. A towering form stood over him. His vision was still blurry, but...he recognized the...whatever it was. Actually, it looked human...It said something to him, but for some reason, Chris couldn't quite make out his words. And he looked so familiar...where had he seen him before..._

_And his heart nearly stopped when it hit him. He looked human; must be a warlock. Probably one in the book of shadows. That's why he looks familiar..._

_Chris panicked. Summoning every ounce of strength he didn't think he had, he jerked violently to the side, away from the warlock. And gasped in pain when he felt his body connect forcefully with something hard. A metal pole, or beam, or something._

_And he wasn't moving anymore. _

_He cried out, as he finally felt the pain crash through his side. Then he felt people-demons- toushing him, graping at him. He jerked and wriggled and thrashed around with a new-found energy, trying to get away from them. Every fiber of his being wa yelling 'Orb orb!' but, try as he might, he couldn't. There was metal on each side, which he kept banging painfully into. A Cage? Maybe magic proof...would explain why he couldn't orb..._

_But his strength was failing again, and the creatures, demons, warlocks, had overpowered him, holding him down, there where at least four..._

_He then felt a small, yet sharp pain on his arm. He jerked reflexively but couldn't get anywhere. They held him too tightly. _

_And within minutes, all the strength hr had left seemed to just fade. He relaxed, and suddely, he didn't feel threatened anymore...just tired, so tired..._

_The warlock...was that what it was? Somehow he wasn't so sure now...was back in his sight. He bent over him, and Chris felt him lay a cool palm against his forehead. His instincts told him, 'get away! Demon!' but he was just too tired..._

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They had been sitting there for almost an hour now, and emotions where at an all time high. Wyatt got up to use the bathroom four times, just to have something to do, a place to go. Leo kept standing up, then would stand for a moment, with a lost look on his face, and would sit back down... And Piper.

Piper's heart beat faster for each minute she sat there. Each pair of footsteps made her jump, and looks anxiously at the door, hoping for the door to open and for Chris's doctor to walk in with good news.

But each set of footsteps just walked on by. She almost had a coronary when the door actually DID open, a million possibilities racing though her mind, but it was a woman who entered, with good news about the Asian couples niece.

Piper felt a white hot stab of jealousy at that moment. Because as much as she could hope, and pray, she knew that the next person who walked through that door wouldn't have good news about Chris.

Paige wasn't doing much better. She, like Leo, could only think about the one image that was burned permanently into her psyche.

And it scared her more than anything, to think of having to watch her nephew die again.

Well, maybe not. There was one thing, only one worse thing, that she couldn't bare. As much as she loved her nephew, as much as she loved her brag about him at work like her own child, as much as she cared about him, she knew...

She could much rather see her nephew died quickly, if that was what was happening, then to see him suffer as he had.

That was always how Paige was. Death was hard to witness, but suffering, that was damn near impossible.

And she had seen both of Chris.

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Exactly nine minutes later, the waiting room door slowly opened, revealing a haggard looking Dr. Ollrich.Who was met with five angry, emotional, screaming Halliwells. The moment the saw him enter, they swarmed, bombardingng him with demands and questions.

"Hey, Hey!" he called out. :Pleas, just...sit down!" he requested, he himself settling down in a chair opposite Piper and Leo, who, of course, where the ones he needed to focus on.

" Mrs. Halliwell," he began, rubbing his brow tiredly. "I need to ask you something, and it's important that you don't lie to me."

Well, that was unexpected. Piper's jaw dropped, and hung there for several seconds before she replied, "Of COURSE I'm not going to lie to you!" she was flabbergasted; if it was for Chris's sake, of course she would tell him anything.

Dr. Ollrich looked Piper straight in the eye and sighed.

"Mrs. Halliwell, has Chris every been out of the country?"

Piper opened her mouth to reply, but then, realizing what he'd asked, stuttered, "W-what?"

"I asked you if Chris had ever been out of the country," He stated again, his voice even, though firm. He looked as though he was pissed off.

"Well, no, he hasn't!" Piper answered, wondering why on earth this was important. And she HAD answered truthfully. The only time Chris had ever traveled outside the country was when he had to orb somewhere, to get rare potions ingredients, to hunt elusive demons...but she certainly couldn't tell him THAT.

"Wh, Why is this important?" Leo asked of the doctor. He was holding onto his wifes hand, trying to reassure her.

Ollrich pinched the bridge of his nose, then ran his hand trough is thinning hair, exasperated. He hated this part, always had. But there was no way around it.

Trying to keep the mans gaze, Ollrich sighed again, and said, in as gentle a manner as he could, "Because, Mr. Wyatt. We have the results of Chris's most recent blood test, a..."

"And?" Shrilled three voices at once. (Phoebe and Paige didn't trust themselves to speak at the moment)

The doctor gave them a pitying look, as though he'd rather be any where but here, having to break this news to him...and he would.

But he was here, and this was part of his job. So he took a deep breath and, trying to looks the boys mother in the eye, he said,

"And, Mrs. Halliwell, Mr. Wyatt, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but your son has Malaria."

Piper stopped breathing. Literally, did not take her next breath. She felt as though she'd just touched a live electrical wire. She just sat there, trying to remember how to breath again, trying to make her brain process this new information, as she listened to her husband yell at the doctor.

"What! What do you mean, he has Malaria? We've been here for days! It doesn't take any time at all to diagnose Malaria!"

Ollrich looked quite taken aback; he obviously wasn't expecting the resident Pacifist to loose it like this.

"Well, you see Mr. Wyatt, we didn't even consider foreign diseases until recently, seeing as how, upon his admittance, Chris had said he'd never traveled outside the U.S."

"He hasn't!" Piper put in, having found her voice. Though her words where considerably choked up.

"But I needed to ask you again, to confirm the information. If he hasn't left the country, he had to have acquired it here, in California."

"B-but, is that even possible?" Paige asked. Her pale face was now stark white, her eys large as coins.

"It's unlikely, though not unheard of." he answered.

"And...and you're sure? I mean, you're positive about this?" Piper confirmed. She was now clinging onto Leo's hand with both of ger own, her nose red, and her eyes averted to the floor.

Ollrich nodded slowly. "I double checked the results myself," he said softly.

Wyatt, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "How is he?" his voice was barely audible, his eyes shining, though he tried to hide it.

"That's actually why I called. He's...he isn't doing well," he began, trying to keep his own voice calm and relaxed, so the others wouldn't be alarmed. Fat chance of that. "You see, about two hours ago, a nurse went in to check his vitals, and...and his temperature had spiked to nearly 106." He was cut off by the sound of Piper, trying to hold back a sob. She had one hand clenched over her chest, the other covering her mouth. Leo tried to stay level headed, for her sake, and held her close. He looked back up at Ollrich, prompting him.

He took his cue. "I was off shift at the time, but I was called in immediately. When I got to his room, he...he wasn't I good shape." He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. And trying not to look at Piper. In all the years he'd been a doctor, the hardest, HARDEST thing he had ever done was having to break bad news to a mother.

"He was delirious, didn't know where he was, didn't know his name. He was immediately transferred to the ICU,"

"Oh God." Wyatt groaned softly, his head buried in his palms.

Ollrich tried to continue. "So far, he's stable, and we're trying to get his temperature down-"

Piper, once more, cut him off. Her face was red a blotchy, and she sniffled between words.

"Tell me right now," she began, her voice trembling. Her entire body was trembling, though her gaze, it was solid, steady..."You tell me right now, is he going to be OK?"

And the room went so quiet, everyone could almost hear each other's hearts beating. All eyes where focused on Dr. Ollrich; Piper, who had tears streaming down her face, Leo who was trying to be strong, Wyatt, who had his knees drawn up in front of him. Paige and Phoebe, who sat in silence, tier eyes brimming.

He took a shaky breath and, looking down at his hands, said, "It doesn't look good."

Piper broke down then, her walls crumbling. S he curled in on herself, hunching over, weeping openly. Leo closed his eyes, suddenly looking twice his age. And, though he tried to be invisible, to not give his mother another reason to be heartbroken, Wyatts could be heard, choking back a lump in his throat.

Ollrich decided he had to get out of there. He didn't know why this was so much harder...But he had to wrap this up, get away.

"Chris is receiving medication to try and fight off the illness, but his case is quite severe, and it may not be enough."

Their was complete silence in the room, as everyones' minds filled with this horrible possibility, that Chris might not be coming home with them...

"Can we see him?" Leo whispered, though in the quiet of the moment, he might as well have yelled.

"Of course," Dr. Ollrich replied, standing. "He's in room 129, East Wing. Though We can only allow two at a time in ICU, and for no more than ten minutes." at the families outraged looks, he defended, "Chris needs to rest, to try to fight this off. I'm sorry, but it's hospital policy." and not wasting a second, he left the Halliwells to their own.

"Leo," Piper choked after a moment. "Leo, what are we gonna do?" she sounded so lost, so scared.

And with those five words, she summed up what everyone was musing about. What could they do, how long did he have? Long enough to find a spell, a potion, anything to help?

Leo just held onto his wife, wrapping her in his embrace. "We're gonna do all we CAN do, hon. We're gonna go visit him, let him know we're here for him, that we're with him,"

And with everyone caught up in their own grief, no one noticed the looks of guilt etched onto Wyatt's face...

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There, I updated! I am quite pleased with this chapter, and please, if your not, don't flame me! in really tiny voice, LLC says I'm afraid of fire...

ANYway, please, please review! I love to know what YOU loved! And I know I didn't get a lot of Phoebe and Paiges emotions, but I wantd to focus mainly on Piper and Leo here. But each charector, in the next coupla chapters, will get thier moment...especially Wyatt...


	12. Chapter 12

OK, I know I've said that I'll update my stories in a set order, but I really wanna get this new chapter in! Besides, I don't think anyone is gonna complain!

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Leo held Pipers hand tightly in his own, as they made their way down the blisteringly white hospital corridor. All that they could think about was seeing their son, letting him know that they were here for him, try to give him strength. But it seemed like they where stuck in some odd time loop; one step forward, two steps back. The turn in the hall seemed so far away, and was only getting farther.

Neither of them had spoken a word since they left the waiting room, each caught in their own thoughts.

Leo had been so angered and shocked and Dr. Ollrich's diagnosis, he's seriously considered hitting him. Malaria. How in the name of God could Chris get Malaria? This was Northern California, not Africa! How..why?

And that had been only half of it. He said...he said it didn't look good. He was so sick...didn't even know where he was...oh God, why!

Piper wasn't fairing better with her own musings. Her baby needed her, and she couldn't get to him fast enough! She just wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to take his pain away...but she couldn't do it all. Not even the doctors could do it all...

Time had seemed to stand still so long, that both parents where rather shocked to suddenly be met by a pair of double doors, the words 'Intensive Care Unit" written across them in small blue lettering. Piper had never thought she'd be having to visit her child in the ICU.

Leo squeezed her hand tight, and looked down at her. He was pale, and her face was red and tearstained. And her chocolate eyes, usually so calm, where a mess of worry, anziety and pain. SO much pain.

They held one another gaze a minute longer, stalling. They wanted to see Chris SO bad, so bad...but neither knew what they could expect when they entered his room. Was he awake? Would he recognize them?

Running a hand through his graying hair, Leo took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.

San Francisco Memorials ICU was made up of an entire wing, divided into sections, each section having a large nurses station in the center, with glass-doored room all around. Piper kept her head down, not wanting to see into any room but her sons.

Leo stopped and made an inquiry at the nurses station. The elderly woman he spoke to pinted to the opposite side of the ward, and Leo, thanking her, carefuly led Piper and himself away.

Al around, Piper heard sounds from the rooms. Beep, hisses, murmers and small cries. It all just reminded her of the situation at hand. Slowly she raised her other hand, clinging desoeratly to her husbands arm. She felt like she was drowning. The rushing in her ears, the tighness in her chest...every wall seemed to be drawing in around her...

Closing her eyes tightly, she gripped Leo's arm so tightly she was white-knuckled. He paused a moment, drew her close and planted a warm kiss on the top of her head.

"Piper?" he whispered so softly. She made no response that she heard him.

He tried again. "Piper, we're here." His voice was barely audible, though to someone as close to him as Piper, the break in his words was evident.

There was a moment of silence from the couple, until Piper nodded her head a fraction.

"I know."

But she made no move to enter the room. She felt as though someone had set her feet in cement. She wanted, NEEDED to mve, but...her fear was holding her back. Her fear of hr sons illness, his condition, how he'd appear when they entered his room...

She was suddenly aware of how string the smell in the air was. Not just sterile, like the rest of the hospital. There was...something else, under the odor of amonia and Lysol. Something heavy and...it made her sick to her stomach...

Leo gently loosened his embrace on Piper, who brought her hand up to wipe at her eyes.

"Are you ok?" Loe inquired, and Piper almost laughed. Ok? Was she OK!

But she just took a shaky bretah and said, let's go.

Taking her small hand in his once more, Leo and Piper turned and walked quietly into the closest door, room. 129.

Being quiet as they could, afraid of possibly disturbing their son, the made their way past the surtain shielding the room...

It took Piper a moment to locate Chris among the tangle of wires and tubes leading to and from his still form.

Leo felt as though the air in the room had froze. He couldn't seem to draw in a beath at all. Chris...his son...Oh God, he was so pale...

Piper, her legs finally working again, made a b-line to his side, to see her baby better.

He lay perfectly still, a blue blanket drawn up to his chest, his arms resting at either side. His face was milk white, with purple-red circles around them. There was a tube running beneath his nose, hissing oxygen. Two IV's ran to his left arm, which was slightly bruised, and a heart monitor beeped quietly to the side, a thin green line tracing each slow beat. A cuff around his right arm kept tabs on his blood pressure, and there was a small patch on his forehead, above his right eyes, which, Piper guessed, was a form of a thermometer. She quickly scanned the variouse moniters and screens, skimming over numbers that made no sense, and found four that did. 106.0. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed she'd seen wrong. She hadn't.

"Oh my God, Sweetie," she breathed, reaching down over the railing and gently brushing away a dark strand of hair. Her fingers laced over his skin, and she winced at hw hot he felt. She bent over carefully, and planted a kiss at the same point she just touched, lingering as long as she could.

As she stood up, she saw that Leo had taken a seat next to her, another chair settled in a corner. Quickly, she brought the chair over to Chris's bedside. Leo held his sons hand gently in his own, so she reached up and ran her fingers through his thick hair, hoping he could somehow take comfort in her presence.

"Hey Sweet heart," she tried to make her voice sound light hearted, cheery...for his sake. "Listen, I know you don't feel so good right now, but-but Mom and Dad are right here, hon. OK?" Chris made no evidence that he heard her. He just lay prone and sedated, the only movement coming from the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"We're right here son," leo spoke next to Chris. "You're gonna be just fine, you hear me? You just gotta be strong..." his own voice faltered, and trailed off, though he never lowered his gaze from his childs face.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"Mrs Halliwell? Ma'am?"

Pipers head shot up at the unexpected sound. Another nurse stood in the doorway, trying to get their attention.

"What?" Piper snapped, more than a bit annoyed.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.

"What!" Shrieked Piper, who immediately winced at the loudness of her voice. Her eyes darted down to Chris, to make sure she hadn't disturbed him.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But you've been here ten minutes already. I've been told there is a few other family members waiting to visit, so we'll accept them this one time, since it is so late, but I'm afraid that your time is up fro tonight."

Piper just stood there, her mouth hanging open in outrage. She had a few choice words in mind to throw at her, but Leo carefully stood and took her arm.

"It's OK, Piper. We'll come back as soon as we can." he said, knowing that arguing with the nurse wasn't going to help Chris. Besides, they where only an prb away if things didn't feel right.

The nurse left the room, after throwing a pointed look, to give them a moment.

Piper leaned down, to give her son a light kiss on the cheek. He was burning up...

"It's ok, baby. We'll be back as soon as we can, ok?"

Chris didn't stir.

"We love you sooo much Peanut." she whispered, hoping, hoping he could hear her.

Leo did much the same, promising him that they would see him again in the morning. Piper wasn't paying attention to Leo, though. She was completely focused on her son pale face. He had barely stirred their entire visit.

Leo took his wifes hand, and, meeting her eyes, they quietly left the room.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

A few minutes later, Piper entered the ladies wash room, to try and get some air. She leaned against the cool tile, taking several deep breaths that did nothing for her. This was all too overwhelming. Chris was so sick, he looked aweful...Piper knew that her son was nothing if not a ighter, but...this was nature. It wasn't some demon Chris could just blow up with a flick of the wrist. It was a disease. A fatal illness...

She made the mistake of opening her eyes then, and caught a glimpse of herself in the water-flecked mirror.

Oh God.

Everyone had always told her how much Chris took after her, looked just like her...

But when she caught site of her face in the mirror, it rang with a resounding truth.

She's never realized how much Chris's features resembled her own...but now...her face was tear stained, blotchy and red, whilst his was pure white. She had dark circles benath her eyes, and her hair was frazzled. And as bad as she looked, she remebered how much worse Chris had.

Her baby.

It all came down on Piper Halliwell at that moment. The reality and severity of the situation pounded her like a tidal wave, drowning her, washing her away, whipping her mind around, this way and that.

She sunk to her knees then, and cried.

Cried for her baby boy, so frail...

Cried for her family, who had already been through so much...

For the son she had already lost...

For every reason Piper could think of, she cried.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

short, but I hope you enjoy! Now, the more reviews I get, the happier I am. And when I'm happy, I write...HINT HINT!

A NOTICE TO MY FELLOW CHRIS FANS!

Go to the charmed ones. Com, and vote for Chris Crossed and Drew Fuller in the Charmies awards! You don't hafta register or nothing, just vote!


	13. Chapter 13

OK, OK, I know I've been gone a while, but ya see, I was sorta putting off updating this story. Not cause I wanted to punish my loyal, loving readers or anything! It's cause I thought I needed to put in a Paige n Phoebe chapter. BUT I really hate those charectors, and wasn't looking forward to writing an entire chapter about them, so I decided to go for the thoughts and musings os a MUCH more interesting charector, Wyatt! Oh, and that nice little Chris/Wyatt moment I've been taunting you with for months? It's here! See if you can find it!

_**A good friend will not bail you out of jail. A good friend will be sitting beside you in the cell, saying "Damn, that was fun!"**_

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

It was awful quiet for a hospital. On television, hospitals where always buzzing with activity. Shouts, running footsteps, monitors going off...But here, in the waiting room so early on a Monday morning, all was still...peaceful...except for the mind of the rooms sole inhabitant.

Wyatt.

OH no, nothing was peaceful for Wyatt at the moment. His mind was spinning with thoughts, shouts, screams, all echoing and resounding in his skull. His parents had gone outside for some air, and his aunts were visiting his brother. When they came back, it would be his turn.

But he didn't know if he'd go.

It wasn't as though he didn't WANT to see his baby brother, far from it. He wanted nothing more than to go see Chris, to sit with him, hold his hand and tell ho, he loved him...and that he was sorry. So sorry.

But Wyatt wasn't sure he could face Christopher. Not after...not after what he'd done. Guilt, shame, remorse, surged through his body, hummed in his veins, and taunted his soul.

It's all YOUR fault your brothers so sick!

How could you do that to him?

You're supposed to protect him, you fucking idiot!

Wyatt rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as though he could crush his taunting conscience with sheer will and pressure. But still the voice punished him with shame. For not protecting Chris, not keeping him safe... Cursed him, mocked his name, his extistance.

And it was right.

God, if only I wasn't such an ass! If only I'd listened to him, if only I hadn't...hadn't...

'If Only." probably the most stated phrase in the English language nowadays, not only for Wyatt, but for most of the country. 'If Only I'd signed up for Trig.' 'If Only I had known she was coming.' 'If Only I hadn't already eaten dinner.' All these thoughts (trivial or no) of what could have been, what should have been, what would have happened differently IF ONLY we'de done that one little thing different. If you had tweaked your plans, been there earlier, if you'd known in advance. Maybe you'd be a millionaire. Maybe you wouldn't be flunking American History. Maybe...

Maybe Chris wouldn't be lying ill in a hospital bed.

Maybe he'd be up, raiding the fridge for a post-midnight snack.

Maybe he'd still be awake, pulling an all-nighter for his Art Cultural studies class.

Maybe he'd be sneaking out to meet that Bianca chick at the park they liked so much.

Wyatt suddenly let out a frustrated groan, filled with only a small part of all the pain, anguish, guilt he was carrying on his shoulders. He ran a hand through his tangled blonde curls and looked out the door with bloodshot eyes. His aunts were walking slowly down the hall, back to the room. Phoebe had her arm interlooped with Paiges, each trying to draw strength out of the other. Their heads were bowed, Paige dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. Each looked about fifteen years older than they really where. They looked worm, weary.

Wyatt watched is usually strong, unshakable aunts with a fresh wave of self remorse flooding every fiber of his body. They wouldn't be feeling so much pain if it wasn't for him. They would still be the powerful, confident woman they always where. His mother wouldn't be this close to a nervous break down...

If Only I would have listened to Chris.

If Only I hadn't wheedled him so much.

If Only I'd have let him stay home...

Maybe he wouldn't be dying.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Walking. Ever so slowly, walking. One foot in front of the other. The other in front now. Don't trip, don't stumble. Just walk.

Wyatt seemed to have to put all his focus and concentration into that simple, mindless task. And with every step, he left behind another part of himself. His confidence, his self-assurance ...leaving behind nothing but a deep, sorrowful ache, deep in his chest.

"_I don't know, Wyatt. I got classes early tomorrow..."_

Chris voice kept punctuating his thoughts. Words, sentences, that Wyatt was too ignorant to pay mind too. That he didn't WANT to pay mind to. Didn't want to listen to...

"_Come ON Chris! You need to get your nose out of those books for a while!"_

Wyatt ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath that did nothing to sustain his body. Still on auto-pilot, he pushed himself through a pair of double doors, and walked down the new corridor revealed in front of him. One foot in front of the other. Now that foot. The first one again. Don't look up. Don't make eyes contact.

It only took a dozen or so more steps before he found himself in front of Chris's room. His name typed in an index card, slipped into the clear slot beside the door.

Christopher Halliwell.

Wyatt, despite the situation, smirked slightly. Chris had always liked his name. Common forty or so years ago, but a rare name in todays culture. People tended to go for the more bizarre nowadays. Even so, he only let a few people get away with calling him by his full name. "Yeah, I like my name, but I always fell like I'm about to get in trouble!" he'd explained. Wyatt remember when he was about 16, and had greatly enjoyed picking in his "baby" brother, calling his by his full name any chance he got, annoying Chris to no end. Of course, the teasing quickly stopped after Chris mentioned the fact that Wyatt as almost named Peter in front of his friends.

Wyatts nostalgia quickly faded, though, as he turned his attention to the open door. Chewing his bottom lip, he stepped through the threshold and slowly, ever-so-slowly, made his way over to his brother.

He felt his entire spirit shattering as he saw what he had done to his own brother. Wyatt never thought he'd see Chris look so helpless, so frail...

Being as quiet as he could, he started to cross the room. With Chris still asleep the room was nearly silent, save the soft beeping coming from a few of the machines. Two chairs where set by his bed; no doubt having been used by his parents and aunts.

Wyatt settled himself in the one closet to his brother, and took several deep breathes.

He was almost afraid to touch Chris, not wanting to hurt him any more than he already had. But he couldn't **not** touch him. Chris was so pale, deathly pale, and so very still, that Wyatt needed his own proof that he was still with him. The rise and fall of Chris chest just wasn't enough.

He reached under then bed and found a catch. Pulling it slowly, he grabbed hold of the rail and lowered it, careful of the many wires and tubes running to and from his brothers body.

He leaned forward and gently brushed his hand over Chris brow, but quickly withdrew it from shock. His skin was so hot to the touch. So he instead took Chris hand in his own. And suddenlt Wyattdidn't know what to do. There lay his brother, broken and dying, just mere inches in front of him...

And he couldn't do a damn thing to help him.

...or maybe he could...

Days ago, when Chris had first fallen ill, when he'd collapsed in front of his family, Wyatt had rushed to his side, and tried to heal him. He'd placed his hands over his brothers still form, a warm, golden light emanating from his palms...but Chris hadn't stirred.

They'd assumed it was the Powers that Be that prevented it. That they didn't want Chris to be healed of a non-magical illness.

But that was before they knew Chris's condition was life threatening. Before his fever spiked, before...

Before they knew he was dying.

Surely the Elders wouldn't risk losing a powerful witch like Chris. Surely it was worth another try...

With a renewed hope, Wyatt gently eased Chris's hand from in his, and rested his palm on Chris's fevered brow once more, the other on his chest. Wyatt could feel the wires of his heart monitor beneath his fingers, reminding him unceasingly of the dire situation. But he did his best to ignore it. He summoned all the ill and magic he could, feeling it hum through his veins. And his hands began to glow.

And his brother lie still.

It has to work, Wyatt kept thinking. It just has to.

He put all his will into it, concentrated in nothing but the task at hand. He pictured Chris getting better, going home with them...

And he remembered too.

Remembered all the times he and Chris had snuck out of the house with blankets and hot chocolate, and had sat atop the pillar of the Golden Gate Bridge, watchting the full moon lazily drift across a night sky speckled with tiny pinpricks of light.

All the days after school they had both sat in detention, after one had come up with another 'fun' scheme, and the other had followed it with a grin.

All the football games Chris dragged himself to, even though he hated football, just to see Wyatt play, and the gymnastics tournaments Wyatt had to BE dragged to, to see Chris perform.

The warm glow intensified, but still there was no change. Chris lay completely still, his face white, slack.

All the days Wyatt and Chris had stayed home, training, mixing potions (many with humourous affects) and complaining about wanting to go out with their friends, even though they both were secretly very proud of their heritage.

Wyatt wasn't sure how long he sat there, leaning over his brother. He didn't notice as his arms began to ache and how the light was fading.

All the times...that one of them had gotten sick and..and they would ditch school to be with them...

And soon the light sparked out all together.

Wyatt slowly pulled his hands away from his brothers still form, staring down at his palms at though they had betrayed him. As though his powers had betrayed them.

And in a sense, they had...

Just like Wyatt had betrayed Chris...

He couldn't hold it in any longer. He retook his grasp on Chris hand, holding tightly in his own. He looked down at his brothers too-pale face, the dozens of wires and monitors hooked up to his body, and did something he hadn't done in years.

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell, all-powerful, Twice-blessed prophesized first-born-son of a Charmed One, broke down and cried.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"_I don't know, Wyatt. I have classes early tomorrow." Chris said aloud to his brother._

"_Come ON Chris! You need to get your nose out of those books for a while!" Wyatt pleaded._

_Chris closed his textbook and took off his reading glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. Sometimes his brother would latch on to an idea and not let go!_

"_I just don't think I wanna go..." Chris continued his argument, but Wyatt interrupted._

"_Chris! Really, how many times does a meteor shower occur during a full moon on a Wiccan Sabbat?" Wyatt played dirty. He knew Chris was really into his Wiccan heritage._

_Chris was weakening, Wyatt could see it. And he felt a familiar sense of pride. He had always been able to get Chris do to things for him!_

_Chris sighed, and looked back up at Wyatt. "It's the Savanna, Wyatt. How do you know we won't get eaten by a lion or something?"_

"_Eaten by a lion?" Wyatt cackled merrily. "And I thout YOU got the brains in the family! No go change, Dimitri and the others are all wondering what demon got a hold of us, we're taking so long!"_

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

_Twenty minutes later, Wyatt, Chris, and a group of thirty or so other friends (or friends-of-friends) had gathered in the middle of nowhere, deep in the African plains. Most of them where witches, like the boys, but some where just Wiccan who had caught and orb wit the three or four Whitelighters present. And Chris had to admit, he was enjoying himself. Wyatt, however, was having a ball. Chris, Wyatt, their friend Dimitri, and two of the Whitelighters they didn't know well, where the only men in attendance, and Wyatt was using that ratio to his advantage. And right now his advantage was a long-legged brunette with a pixie-cut. _

"_Arn't you glad you came, Chris?" Wyatt asked a while later, handing Chris a can of pop (he didn't drink). _

_Chris snapped the top on the Pepsi and took a long swig. "Actually, it's pretty OK. No Lions to tigers..."_

"_And no bears...!" Wyatt finished with a grin._

"'_Oh My' was that a bad joke!" Chris groaned, taking another sip of his pop. He then tilted his head back, gazing at the black, velvety sky. "Lyra said they shower should start here in a few minutes." he looked back at Wyatt and found him to be wearing a very self-satisfied look on his face. "What's with you?"_

"_Arn'tcha glad I made you come?" Wyatt asked smugly._

_His brother groaned and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Wyatt. You were right, oh-mighty-one. I'm actually having fun!" Chris agreed, then suddenly jumped, hissed, and smacked himself on the arm._

"_Whattsamatter with you? You going Schizo on me or something?" Wyatt asked, perplexed._

"_No, it's these damned mosquitos. The really seem to love me tonight." Chris replied, swatting at another one buzzing around his neck. _

"_Well, that's odd. I thought mosquitos only like to bite sweet things?" Wyatt teased, and threw his head back laughing. _

"_That's right, Wyatt." Chris replied evenly. "That's why the bugs ain't bothering you!"_

_Wyatts jaw dropped open in exaggerated offense._

"_Why you little witch!" he accused._

"_Thank you!" Chris replied, smiling. Wyatt was about to snap back a witty retort when he heard a girl named Tina yell, "Look! It's starting!"_

_Chris and Wyatt each looked up towards the heavens, and watched as it seemed to fall right down on them. Small dots of light sprinkled down across the pitch black night, dusting the air with a sense of wonder._

_And for a moment, Chris and Wyatt forgot about demons, about potion-mixing and fights-gone-WAY wrong. For the moments, they where just brothers. Maybe more, but nothing less. _

_CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH _

"God damn it! If only I hadn't brought him there!" Wyatt chastised himself aloud. "This is all my fault..."

'There it is again. "If Only".

Wyatts tears had began to slow. His face was wet and his eyes where red and puffy.

"Maybe if we'de have gone home sooner...Maybe if we'de left a half hour later...Wyatt continued his rounds of "If Only's" and "Maybe"s. So focused on them, that he didn't hear the soft groan that escaped his brothers lips.

"Maybe if It had been the day after, or the day before or...What the?" Wyatts rambling abbruptly stopped, and he felt Chris hand squeeze gently on his own. His gaze shot up to his brothers face. His forehead was furrowed in anxiety, and his eyes where clenched shut.

"Chris?" Wyatt ventured, reaching his free hand up to brush Chris's dark hair away from his cheek. "Chris, Chris, you with me?"

Chris moaned again, louder this time, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he opened his hazy eyes.

He blinked slowly up at Wyatt, several times.

"Hey Chris," Wyatt said, his voice soft, gentle. He was glad that Chris was awake, even if only for a short time, yet he was also frightened at how Chris would act. His temperature was so high...what if he lashed out again? It would be disastrous to Chris in his condition.

"Hey..." Chris voice was weak, raspy and barely audible. He seemed to be at least slightly coherent...

"How are you feeling Chris?" Wyatt asked next, trying to make his voice sound light and cheerful. He had a feeling he was failing.

"...hurts." Chris ground out, his eyes closing for a long moment.

"What hurts Chris? Your head?" Wyatt pushed. The thought of his baby brother being in any kind of pain right now was an unbearable thought.

But the only response he got out of Chris was a bleary "wha?"

"Your head, Chris. Is it hurting you?" Wyatt asked again. And all the while Wyatt kept hold of his brothers hand.

Chris was silent for a moment, looking at Wyatt with an uncomprehending glance. That simple question seemed to throw Chris for a loop.

A couple moments later, something seemed to click with Chris though. He nodded very slightly. "Yeah..." he answered quietly. "Yeah...I fell pretty hard huh?"

Wyatt was taken aback by this. "Fell? Chris, what are you talking about? You didn't fal...You're sick."

But Chris didn't seem to be in the same conversation as Wyatt. He grinned lazily up at Wyatt. "Just lost my footing I guess. I really..." he paused, breathing deeply, as though talking this much was tiring him. Which it probably was. "I really thought I had that routine down too."

Now Wyatt got it. And he didn't like it. That's what Chris had said ten years ago, when he'd fallen off the balance beam. Was he really that out of it?

"Chris," he started. "Chris, you didn't fall. You don't have a concussion Chris. You got sick, don't you remember?" Suddenly it seemed so important to make Chris understand. He knew it was a lost cause, of course. His temp was much too high; of course he was going to drifting in and out. But even so...

"Wyatt?" Chris spoke up suddenly. His voice was now smaller, almost...fearful...

"What is it, Chris?" Wyatt responded, giving his brothers hand a warm squeeze.

Chris looked up at his big brother in a way Wyatt hadn't seen since he was about seven. Big, round eyes, quivering bottom lip...

"You're not going to tell Mama, are you?" he asked, his voice holding a bit of desperation in it.

"Tell Mom what, Chris?" This was really beginning to worry Wyatt. Not only did Chris apparently not know where he was or what was going on, but he was also exhausting himself. As much as it put Wyatt at ease to at least see Chris awake, he really needed to rest.

"It was an accident, you KNOW that. You're not going to tell her...right?"

Wyatt offered his brother a warm smile, hoping to reassure him. He had no idea what Chris was talking about, but he decided it would be easier to just play along.

"No, I won't tell her, I swear. Now just go back to sleep,'K? I know you're tired.

"I really thought I had that routine down, man. Musta just had an off day," Chris muttered, once again switching his conscious to another time. And with that, his eyes slid closed and his breathing slowly evened out.

Wyatt sat there for several minutes, just watching his baby brother sleep, once again having an overwhelming urge to keep watch over him, make sure he was ok. Instinct. He still held his hand, brushed Chris's hair out with his fingers, and talked to him. He couldn't hear him, not that he was really saying anything of importance, but it felt right, just to talk to him. Talked to him about school, reminded him of Biancas visit (the pleasant parts, at least) and talked to him about what they'd have to do after he got better. Besides, maybe, on some level, Chris COULD hear him...

And he suddenly remembered; he hadn't gotten to tell Chris he was sorry.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"_Come on Halliwell! I know you can do better than that!" yelled Chris's gymnastics coach, her voice booming._

'_Yeah, yeah, so I'm having an off day! Sue me!' Chris thought bitterly, standing beside the balance beam, working out a catch in his neck. And 'Off Day' pretty much summed it up. He knew his routine backwards and forwards, but he just kept messing up. Little things, too. Stumbling, sloppy dismounts, and the like. It just wasn't his day, apparently._

"_Get back up there, let's do this again!" his coach instructed, looking for all the world like she'd sell her soul for an Advil._

_Nodding, Chris mounted the beam again, and stood. He took a deep breath, and began. And suddenly, his mind went blank. But that was a good thing. His mind always seemed to go clear as he preformed. Blissfully clear, in fact. _

_Oneflip-on yourhands_-_twirl-twirl-stop-twoflips_

_Like he said, he knew the routine like the_ _back if his hand. But he just hadn't been all there that day, and at the end of his routine, during a back flip, his hands had completely missed the beam, and he went flying off towards the floor, his beam banging against the firm beam as he fell. He'd been knocked unconscious for several moments, and had awoken with his coach and team mates all crowding around him, whispering urgently as his coach tried desperately to wake him up. He had heard someone be yelled at to call his parents, another, 911. He had been scared out of his mind that day, and had dreamt several times about that incident, but somehow...this was different...something was here that shouldn't be..._

_Chris now stood on one end of the beam, balancing on the balls of his feet with his arms out stretched. Taking a deep breath that did little to clear his mind, he took two spring steps and launched himself forward. The dismount consisted of two flips on the beam, and a tuck to send himself onto the mat. His first turn went fine, but for a split second, straight in front of him, he saw something that shocked him to the core._

_Wyatt. _

_What was he doing here?_

_And for that second that Chris locked eyes with his brother, he felt a chill down to his bones. This wasn't right. Wyatt wasn't there..._

_And in that split second that Wyatt saw his brother, he was already gaining momentum for his next flip...and then something happened._

_Wyatt raised his hand almost lazily, and flicked his wrist in Chris's direction._

_Chris was suddenly flung five feet off the beam, his head caching it as he flew. A terrible pain shot through his skull, and he felt himself hit the mat with a sickening thud. In the last few moments before he lost consciousness, his gaze once more locked with Wyatts. His brother grinned almost...giddily. And he orbed out. Black orbed._

_And Chris could no longer fight the impending darkness closing over him._

_CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH_

_Wyatt watched painfully as Chris mumbled in his sleep, tossing as though he was caught in a nightmare. Chris had always been prone top nightmares, and he would always wake up drenched in a cold sweat, nearly forgetting how to breath._

_Wyatt wondered vaguely what kind of twisted monster could instill sucj fear into his baby brother._

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

WOW! I have no idea how I got to ten pages so fast! BTW, about my last chapter; eah, the selling was terrible. But see, the thing was, I was so excited about actually having a new chapter to post that I had actually FORGOT to spell check!

ANYway, tell me what you think! (And PLEASE, no more "update or die" reviews. Those are terrible) But feel free tp tell me what you thought about this chapter! Trust me, I could use the pick-me-up!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	14. Chapter 14

Yeah, I know I told some of you that I'd have this up Sunday, but that didn't happen for several reasons:

1: work.

2: family drama. My sister becomes sibling number 3 to get kicked out of the house. I only have three siblings.

3: I am in mourning! What have I lost, you ask? My hope to one day become Mrs. Keith Urban! Damn you Nicole! (nah! Actually, I'm quite happy for them...sorta!)

BUT you can't kill me, know why? Cause then you'd never know if Chris got better, if Chris finds a relationship with his mother (TTRRH), if Chris is going to tell his family that he's going to die in nine months (LaSTHJB) and how Chris is going to react to finding out he's adopted (BAON)

See? You can't kill me!

ANYway, thank you to ALL my fabulous reviewers! I love you all!

Italics are Chris's thoughts. They start right after his last little bout of awareness, after the drugs wear off. It's very jumpy, and shifts from one thought to another in a blink, but hey, the kids delirious! Give him a break:)

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

It was four in the morning, a time of day when most people were in bed, deeply asleep, reaping as much rest as they could before buzzers and alarms sounded the beginning of the new week, rushing them from under their warm cocoons and into the showers.

But it wasn't a clock chiming that had awaken Victor Bennett that morning; it was a telephone, at three twenty-one. He wasn't sure how long it had rang before his mind finally resurfaced from unconsciousness, but he knew when he answered it, he'd get one of two responses; a wrong number, or someone was hurt.

But he knew, the moment he answered with a groggy "'lo?" that it was the latter, as he heard his oldest daughters voice, strained and breaking, on the other end.

"Dad? It's me."

"Piper? What is it, what's wrong?" all lingering traces of sleep hurled away, leaving him wide awake and anxious.

There was a pause at the end of the line. A heavy silence, lasting all of four seconds, yet seemed to go on for hours. And in those four seconds, those four short, racing seconds, Victor's panicked mind was able to come up with dozens of worst-case scenarios; demon attack, Phoebe; Paige; someone's missing, kidnaped, lost. The grandchildren; Lyra, Tina, Wyatt-

"Dad, it's...it's Chris..."

-Chris.

Oh God no, not Chris.

Trying to steady his pounding heart and ragged breathing, Victor eased himself down on the edge of the bed, his mouth opening, as though to speak, but he couldn't think of a single word.

Chris.

Chris had always been his favorite. Not that's he'd ever say it out loud; grandfather's arn't supposed to have favorites. But Chris was his. He loved spending weekends with him, just...talking. sitting out on the balcony of Victors apartment, just chatting about everything and nothing at the same time.

"Dad? Are you ok?" Pipers quivering voice asked, a bit of static crackling in the earpiece.

Sighing, Victor nodded. Then remembered he was on the phone and answered. "What's wrong, Piper. Is he OK?"

Victor could just see Pipers face, hesitating. She was probably twisting a lock of hair around her index finger, as she always did when things where getting overwhelming.

"No, Dad. He's not." Piper's voice cracked on the last word, and Victor would hear her sniffling. "He's sick, really sick, and he's in intensive care-"

"What?" Victor gasped, nearly pulling the phone off the night stand. Dragging the hook back up by the cord, he stammered, "But, wh..why? What's wrong with him?"

A deep sigh. The air reverberated into the mouthpiece of her phone, sounding to Victor like air whistling through a cracked windshield.

"I really don't want to have to tell you over the phone, Dad. I just can't ." she sighed again in resignation. "Just...get to Memorial as soon as you can...OK?"

"Yeah, yeah of course, I-I'll be right there."

Hanging up the phone, Victor rushed, as fats as his elderly form was able, around his room, grabbing a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and hunting for shoes.

'He's sick, really sick...' Piper's words echoed in his head. She had told him to get to the hspital as fast as he could. That meant that Chris wasn't stable. That he might be...

Oh God.

His left shoe untied, his night stand lamp still illuminating a small circle of his small room, Victor whisked his keys off the peg, and bolted out the door.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

_Good God, did his head hurt!_

_He couldn't feel much, really. He knew it was hot, really hot, and that he was laying down, but that was about it._

_Oh, and his head hurt._

_And he was tired. He'd just woken up, but GOD was he tired..._

_Everything was dark, like midnight on a new moon. The darkness scared him, as it had when he was young, when he would run, frightened, to Mommy and Daddy's bedroom, and cuddle down in between them, warm, safe..._

_But he didn't think Mommy was here. Daddy either...but then again, LEO never WAS there, was he?_

_No, no...Daddy would be here...he loved him, he knows so._

_But he didn't feel warm and safe. He was burning up, yet shivering, and worried. Did that demon get Mom? Was there an attack? Yeah, that's why Piper isn't here. He sent her and the sisters on a vanquish. Mist Demons. Not very high on the Who Could Have Turned Wyatt scale, but still a threat none the less..._

_He felt something cold brush against his face as he clenched his eyes shut against the pain. Something thin, against his cheek. Probably Wy, teasing his with worms again. Aunty Paige said that Wy wasn't 'aposed to do that no more, but Wy didn't listen. _

_He reached up to brush the offending object away, but his arms felt like they where tethered to bags of sand, like the kind on those big bright balloons they had at the fair. Mommy took them to the fair last summer. He had wanted to ride on so bad; the colors where beautiful; red, yellow, purple...but Mommy laughed and said he wasn't big 'anough yet. _

_He finally managed to drag his arm up, and wrapped his fingers around the...thing, and tried to tug it away._

_But he was stopped by a pair of soft hands, prying his fingers and gently tugging the tube away from his grasp. _

_He heard someone speak softly._

_He tried to slowly turn his head toward the voice, to avoid any more pain, but it just sort of lolled to one side. He scrunched his eyes up again; they felt dry, gritty, as though someone thought it would be great fun to replace his eyelids with sandpaper._

_Chris's vision was so blurry when he finally forced his eyes open, that he couldn't immediately discern a human form amongst the fuzzy patches of blue and white._

_Squinting a little, he could just make out a woman; couldn't tell how old she as, or even what she looked like, but he could tell she was a She._

_She said something again to him, but her words made no sense to Chris whatsoever. The woman held his cold hand in both of hers; her skin was soft, warm. Gently, she lowered his arm back down to lay across his stomach, and he offered her a lazy smile. He didn't know why, really. He really didn't think he should be smiling. He had no idea where he was, what was going on, but he just felt...calm. Peaceful, yet a bit drowsy..._

_He thought she smiled back, but he couldn't be sure._

_The woman, letting go of his hand (assured now that he would keep still), laid her palm against his forehead, which was damp and much too hot._

_Her palm, though warm to his frozen hands, was surprisingly cold against Chris's brow. He hadn't realized he was so hot until now. Her tepid hand soothed im slightly. Yet, even as he realized this, a shiver shook through his body. He closed his eyes as a reflex to the spasm, and found it to be a nice feeling, having his eyes closed...maybe he'd keep them like that, just for a second..._

_Once again, he felt someone holding his hand in theirs. Instinctively, he tightened his grip, even if just slightly. He was so tired._

"_Chris? Chris, Chris...you with me?"_

_He knew the voice was Wyatt's, like he knew his own name, but...it couldn't be Wyatt. Lord Halliwell would as soon slit your wrist as hold you hand._

_But he had...when he was in the hospital, before...his head hurt so bad! Just like it was now. How could a five foot fall hurt so much? And he knew every single move of his routine too..._

_Wyatt's hand, cold and shaking, held desperately to Chris's, as though in loosing his grip, he would loose Chris..._

_But I'm not going anywhere, Chris thought drowsily. You never wanted to go anywhere after Mom slipped you a sleeping drought. _

_But just to prove to Wy how strong he was getting to be now, he forced his heavy eyelids apart, his eyes dry still, and scratchy, but slightly open._

_Though the bright light above his bed stung and burned his eyes, he managed to prevent them from slipping together once more, though it did sound so tempting...Please aunty Phoebe, just 10 more minutes._

_Wyatt beamed at his brother. Was it Chris's own poor eyesight playing tricks om him, or were Wyatt's eyes red, puffy? As though he'd been crying? No, of course no! Chris scoffed at himself. Lord Halliwell doesn't cry; to cry is to show weakness, vulnerability, and a lack of power._

_And Power is everything._

"_Hey, Chris."_

_Wyatt's voice was hushed, as though he had some grand secret to tell. Chris loved when Wyatt told him secrets. Specially ones that Mommy wasn't supposed to know about! It made him feel very grown up, to know that Wy trusted him like that._

_And if Wyatt couldn't trust you. He'd kill you._

"_Hey," Chris returned, wondering why his voice sounded so weak.. He was so glad to see Wyatt! They never got to spend enough time together anymore; sure, Wyatt came home quite a bit, but sometimes Chris yearned for things to be like they had been before they grew up, before Chris enrolled in college, before Wyatt moved out..._

"_How are you feeling Chris?" Wyatt continued, gently brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes._

_The question, obvious as it was, seemed to bring Chris back to this time..for a while. He was once again aware of the little demon drilling holes in his skull._

"_...hurts..." he told Wyatt, fervently hoping that Wyatt would make it go away, like he does the demons in his closet and the ghost that lives under the sink. Wyatt makes all the bad things go away..._

"_What hurts, Chris? Your head?"_

_Chris understood what Wyatt was asking, his voice tender and concerned, and he understood VERY well that his head hurt, but his mind, muddled by fever and medication, didn't allow him to connect such trivial facts. He furrowed his brow in puzzlement, looking to his big brother to explain to him._

_But his befuddlement as only met with a mirror expression of confusion from Wyatt. The only sound in the still, stifling air was the steady beep...beep...beep from the monitor on Chris's left. He had only been in the hospital once to his remembrance, but he'd visited family countless times, and could discern that sound through a tornado AND a freight train. .._

_Wait...hospital..._

_Realization seemed to dawn on him, and he finally understood why Wyatt looked so fuzzy. Head injuries did that to you._

"_Yeah...Yeah, I fell pretty hard, huh?" he asked, trying to make his voice light and nonchalant. He hated worrying his family, and from what he could remember, he scared the Hell out of his parents already._

_He actually couldn't recall much; about an hour or so is a total blur. He could remember lying on the mat, not being able to move at all, as someone pried his eyelids apart, shining a light in them. He could vaguely piece together being rolled through a glass door, and a doctor...after that, the next corporeal memory he could stir up was his Mom, eyes moist, talking to him as he woke up..._

_He must have fallen back asleep again, as it was now Wyatt in the bedside chair. _

_Oh yeah, Wyatt. He'd forgotten he was there..._

_As he recalled his brother's presence, he smiled slightely. But his elder brother looked at him with a fearful look, akin to a glare given to a raving lunatic._

_It didn't seem to register with the young witch, however, as he kept his upbeat smile on his lips, hoping to convince Wy that he was OK, he was brave, just like him. He wasn't ascared of the ghost under the sink no more. _

"_Fell? Chris, what are you talking about? You didn't fall, you're sick, remember?" _

_Wyatt's voice nearly broke on that last word. He was almost pleading Chris to realize his 'mistake'. It was as though, if Wyatt could convince Chris that he was sick, then it wouldn't matter...he'd be OK...He just had to get him to see it._

_He might as well have been a mute then, however, for all the attention his baby brother paid him. He was still in gymnastics practice, 10 years ago. _

"_Just lost my footing, I guess," Chris continued his monologue. He had to supress a yawn; he hadn't realized he was so tired before now. Bu he couldn't let them see how sleepy he was; They'd make Mommy and Wy go away, and he'd be alone..._

_Blinking, he added, "I really thought I had that routine down, too..."_

_Wyatt knew where his brother was now, and it frightened him, to see Chris so sick...and all because of him..._

"_Chris," he begged desperately, the edge sharp and cutting in his voice, "Chris, you didn't fall. You don't have a concussion, Chris. You got sick, don't you remember?"_

_Mommy would yell at Wyatt if she heard him whine like that, Chris thought a bit wryly. He hated it when Mommy yelled, specially at him. He was so afraid that Mommy and Daddy would get really really mad at him, and they wouldn't want him anymore...they wouldn't love him..._

_Wy says that's rid-riddil-diklus...stupid. Wy says it's stupid, that Mommy and Daddy love them both lots and lots, but it still scared him..._

"_Wyatt?" Chris spoke up, timid, his voice small and sleep-heavy._

"_What is it Chris?" Wyatt responded, his hold on Chris's hand firmer than before._

_Chris looked up at his big brother, hesitantly, almost...frightened. He as so scared...he wanted to cry...but he wouldn't. Not in front of Wy. Big boys who aren't ascared of things under the sink don't cry. _

"_You're not gonna tell Mama, are you?" he questioned._

"_Tell Mom what, Chris?" Wyatt coaxed, hoping to maybe get a little info. If he didn't know what was distressing Chris, he couldn't make it better..._

"_It was an accident, you KNOW that. You won't tell her, right?" his tone was desperate._

_Wyatt forced a comforting smile on his face, masking the turmoil raging inside._

"_No, I won't tell her, I swear. Now go back to sleep, 'K? I know you're tired."_

_Chris relented, and finally succumbed to the beckoning void of sleep._

"_I really thought I had that routine down, man. Musts just had an off day," he mused, his eye lids slipping closed over dim green orbs as he slipped into slumber._

_Chris always dreamed, always, and this was no exception. But, tonight, his dreams were disturbing, frightening even, very unlike the peaceful visions that usually visited him in darkness._

_He saw himself ten years ago, slipping from the bar...except it was Wyatt behind his accident, not a mis-stepped foot. But that didn't make any sense..._

_He saw Wyatt as a baby, raising his shield around him in distrust. Chris looked upon the infant with a mix of revulsion, horror, and love._

_Chris tossed in his fitful slumber as his mother-His own mother!- glared at Chris scornfully, telling Chris that she never wanted to see him again. He looked to each of his aunts for support, but saw the same revulsion in their eyes as in Piper's._

_He cried out softly as he was thrown against a cabinet, and felt a panic rise in his chest as a decorative bottle slipped from his grasp._

_Briefly interrupting these images was a man at Chris's bedside, something samall and cold pressed against his bare chest._

_He slipped away, however, as Wyatt stood before him, hair wild, eyes ferral and dangerous._

_A young woman, beautiful, with golden skin, was hurled across a room. A ring, pressed into Chris's hand, as tears spilt down his cheeks..._

_A city engulfed in flames, people screaming, the Bridge crumbling before Chris's very eyes. He could feel the heat in his face as he began to sweat, reacting in his waking self with cleched fists and eyes clamped against he blinding fire._

_His brother once more, wielding Excalibur, not at a demon, but at Chris._

_His breath began to race to a wild tempo as a man stepped into view, an Elder with dark hair and black robes._

_Never before had a single being tore such hate from Chris's weak heart._

_And panic._

_In some plane, at some time, Chris felt a cool cloth traced over his face, hushed words and a warm hand. He knew that voce so well, but who was it? Grandpa?_

_Wyatt in trouble._

_Not his Wyatt, but a baby._

_Wyatt gripping his throat, Unable to breath._

_The tallest buildings in the city crumbling to ruins._

_Tortured screams._

_His mother, laying lifeless at the bottom of the attic steps._

_A Jail cell._

_A footstep in the attic._

_A man in a black clock, appearing out of nowhere._

_Wanting Wyatt,_

_Running towards him, Have to save him_

_Grabbing Chris around the shoulders, a steel athame piercing his chest..._

"WYATT!" Chris awoke, crying out his brother's name and jolting straight upright. He was drenched in sweat, his heart beating madly.

He felt terrible dizzy, the voices of his nightmares still echoing in his conscious. Their screams, cries as their life was ripped away by...

A wave of nauseousness hit him from nowhere, and he threw himself over the edge of his bed, retching what little there was in his stomach onto the bare floor. Panting, his stomach rolling, he pushed himself up against his pillows, running his hands over his face. God, it must be late...or early...whichever.

He reached for the call button to ring a nurse. His search was in vain, however, as he found nothing amongst the tangle of white linen. Looking for the small keypad on the bedside table, he found none. Not just no call button, but no table.

Puzzled, Chris took a moment to look around his room. And what he saw terrified him.

Or rather, what he didn't see.

The room was overcast in grey, like right before a storm. There was no visible source of light, but the room wasn't consumed by darkness.

Not only was there no table, but there was no blinds on the window, no lamp above the bed, no lap tray, no wires, monitors or tubes. No nothing except his own bed.

And a chair.

One, occupied, chair.

Chris would have fallen right off the bed if it hadn't been for the railing. Because sitting patiently in the fake-wood visitor chair, no more than three feet away from Chris, was a man. Easily three times his own age, the man had whtish hair and deep colored skin. He would be tall when standing, though rather thin. His large hands were resting on crossed ankles. His face was serine, a warm, if sad, smile playing over his features.

Chris gathered his blanket around him, an instinctual protection that really offered no sanctuary. The man didn't look like he could hurt a fly, let alone Chris, but something about him, despite his welcoming manner, frightened Chris in a way that demons never could. A feeling of dread, as though someone was about to tell him horrible news.

Chris was sure that he had never seen the man in his life, and yet, a name rang clear in his head,

His breath rasping, Chris looked at the elderly gentleman, and stammered, sure as he knew his own name,

"Clarence."

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

What a challenge this chapter was! Good challenge though. I wasn't quite sure how to write a delirious Chris, but It was sure fun! Not "I Love hurting Chris!" fun but "How much fun it was to try something new!" fun.

ANYway, I also wrote a poem, to put here at the end; I call it, Ode to Reviews.

"I wrote this update just for you,

So won't you please write a review?

They make my day, they make me smile,

It only takes a little while.

Did you like? Did you hate?

Is it still up for debate?

Let me know, just drop a line,

I swear it won't take any time!

They motivate me, late at night,

To sit upon this chair and write

The stories that I love to tell,

typing on my '05 Dell.

So click the button on the screen,

and thinking of what you have seen,

write a line, or two or three,

Lottsa love, LLC!"


	15. Chapter 15

Alrighty, OK! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! And most especially to Paggie and ChrisForever, from thecharmedsons . Com, who each "gently" urged me to update. (Well, Paggie was gentle. CF? About as gentle as a wild bull!) This chapter is for each of them.

I apologize (again) for taking to long. Um...don't really have much of an authors note...so, ket's just get on with it!

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

The elderly man didn't seem fazed at all by the fact that Chris knew his name. He just sat there, serenely, hands folded in his lap.

Chris, on the other hand, was having a caniption fit.

"Wh-who are you? What are you doing in my room? Where's my parents, Wyatt?" he stammered, backing himself against his bed railing, as far away from Clarence as he could get, almost cowering. Which shamed him greatly; he was a Halliwell, god damn it! Halliwell's do not cowar! They fight, they stay strong, brave.

"You know who I am as well as I know myself, Chris," the man replied, his deep voice soft, almost soothing...almost.

Chris shook his head fervently, his dark hair coming untucked from behind his ears and spilling down into his eyes. "What are you talking about? I don't know you! I've never even met you!" he countered vehemently.

"Really?" Clarence asked, standing. "If you don't know who I am, Chris, then how did you know my name?"

Chris opened his mouth, as though to continue his defense, but he could think of nothing to say to that. It was true; he DID know his name, he would have bet his very life that he knew his name. But how? How could he know the name of a man he'd never met?

As though reading his mind, Clarence nodded towards the young man, and said, "You're fighting it, Chris. You've always had a terrible habit of doing that, you know?" His tone was light, almost conversational. He strolled around the room as he spoke, as though taking a look around. But there wasn't anything to look at, save one very freaked out male witch in a hospital gown.

"You know me, Chris. You remember me, don't you."

"No." Chris stated firmly, in his stubborn tone. "I don't know you, I've never met you! Maybe...maybe, um...my powers are expanding! Maybe I'm developing telepathy!" Clarence just shook his head sadly; poor kid was grasping at straws.

"You're repressing them." he commented simply.

"Repressing what?"

"Your past life, Chris. Your memories."

Good god, the guy is totally unhinged! Chris thought, his mind whirling. Past life? Past memories? No one remembered thier past lives; they may relive them, may have feelings of deja vu from time to time, but they didn't have solid memories. Not even a Charmed Witch.

"You're nuts, you know that? You stay away from me!" he snapped the last bit, and cringed. He did it again. Saying things he hadn't even thought. It made him fell...vulnerable, as though he wasn't even in control of his own body anymore.

Clarence just acknowledged his slip up with a curt nod. "See what I mean? That feeling when words that aren't yours start tumbling out of your mouth?" he paused, but Chris made no move to agree. "Well, I assure you boy, they ARE yours. See, you told me that very same thing 23 years and nince months ago, on your brother's first birthday. I can see it so clearly. Although, couldn't really see YOU that clearly, you having been transparent and all..."

"What are you talking about?" Chris demanded. He was starting to get very anxious. Something wasn't right; something big was going to happen, he just didn't know what.

He did know that he wasnted answers, though, and fast.

"Patience is a virtue," Clarence admonished, looking like he was barely able to keep himself from shaking a finger at Chris.

"You want answers, is that it?" he asked suddenly, sitting himself back down on the single, lonely chair.

"You're damned right I want answers!" Chris belted, unable to restrain himself any longer. "I want to know who the hell you are, what you think you're doing here," he ticked each off on his finger. "I want to know what the hell you're talking about..."

"Chris, Chris, Chris," Clarence interrupted, shaking his head. By his manuerisms and tone, he acted as though he were speakig to a small child, instead of a some what grumpy 23 year old.

"Chris, if you want answers, then what are you waiting for? You have them all! If you would just stop being such a stubborn mule, you'd know that!" At Chris's blank, stoic stare, he sighed and stood again.

"You want answers, Chris? Then answer me something first.

"What?" Chris asked cautiously, still not sure what to expect from Clarence.

Clarence looked directly into Chris's eyes as he spoke. "Your parents told you about before, right? About how you went back in time?"

"You mean about how the other Chris went back in time, saved Wyatt, yeah, they told me." Chris corrected him; HE hadn't done anything, after all. It was a whole other person, from a whole other world...

"Oh Chris, I assure you, it was you. Not another Chris, not a differnt embodiment of Chris, but you. I can sense it."

Chris sighed. "Sense what?"

"Your soul."

It was quiet for a moment before Chris scoffed, thoroughly annoyed.

"OK, you know what? There's a psych ward on the fifth floor. Maybe you should go have a chat with...

"Did you parents ever tell you what happened AFTER you saved Wyatt?" Clarence asked curiously, cutting off the end of Chris's sentence.

"After? What do you mean? I- I mean, he, HE,- went back to the future, which is now some kind of alternate dimension or reality or something." H shrugged at the correct terminology; alternate dimension talks always gave him a migraine.

The throbbing in his head was all but eased at the stealy stare that Clarence had on him. He had an almst…sorrowful look on his face. Almst as if he were dreading something, as though he had some heart wrenching task ahead of him.

"I hate to tell you this, son, but your parents lied to you." He murmured reluctantly.

"Lied to me?" Chris repeted, in a disbelieving tone "Why would Mom and Dad lie to me? Especially about something like that?"

"They wanted t spare you the pain, Chris. They knew what kind of emotional impact the truth would have had on you, so…"

"The whole entire thing had an emotional impact on me!" Chris spat, his temper suddenly flaring. He was just so frustrated with this man! He knew something about Chris, and he wouldn't tell him! He had half a mind to blow him up. F it was something about him, he deserved to know. "Do you think that I just accepted the fact that my brother was evil? Do you think it was easy to find out that he killed thousands if people? That he tried to kill me! Then let me enlighten you; It nearly tore me apart! T nearly tore Wyatt apart! So trust me, _Clarence, _nothing you could tell me could possibly be any more Earth shattering!"

By the time he finshed, Chris was practically shouting, and pating slightly for air. Clarence, however, remained unfazd as always. Chris had only met a handful of creatures in his lifetime that had that kind of tolerance for stress, that could remain so calm at all imes. Elders, Wod Nymhs, Angels…

Chris eyes widened in realization; how could he have missed something so obvious! Go, he was almst ashamed of himself!

"You're a angel, aren't you?" Chris said suddenly, his voice casual, a far cry from the screaming fit he'd just demonstrated. When Clarence made no move o correct him, Chris just nodded, chewing his bottom lip in thought. Now came the hr art; there were dozens of different angels in the worlds… "You aren't an Archangel; they can't hide their wings. And you aren't an Angel of Destiny, because they only have the power to stop time, not…stop the world. You could be a Whitlighter, but I can't sense it from ou…"

"What do you sense, Chris?" Clarence prompted a triumphant smirk on his dark face.

Chris concentrated for a moment, trying to get a feel for the older man's aura, his magic. "I can sense…sorrow, and..and loss…There's grief and pain…and comfort. Past all of it, there's a sense of safety…Oh my God!"

"I take it you figured me out then?" Clarence said with a smile in his voice, and a ghost of a grin on his wrinkled face."

Chris looked upon Clarence with a look akin to panic. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to his feet, not through weakness, but through fear.

"What do you want?" he demanded, slowly backing up, trying to look as though he wasn't about hyperventilate. "Why are you here? I'm not dead!"

An Angel of Death… Angels's of Death only showed themselves to the dead! And Chris just wasted ready to accept the fact that he might be…might be…

Clarence, still sitting comfortably in the metal chair, one akle longing over his thigh, jusy shook his head sadly. "No, Chris. You are not dead."

Letting out a sigh of reliefs, Chris slumped against te white wall farthest away from Clarence. "Well, that's a relief! You've got some nerve, you know that? You can't just waltz in here…

"You are not dead, Chris" Clarence raised his voice to cancel out Chris's rambling. "You're not dead; but you are dying."

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

It was barelt past seven in the morning, yet the entire Halliwell household was already up. Ctually, STILL up would be a better description. Hospital Policy had forced them to leave several hours before, and visiting hours didn't start again for two more.

No more than two words had been spoken since the walked through the front door. There was plenty to be said, plenty that needed to be said, but it just seemed like too much effort to speak right now.

The family was gathered around the kitchen table, each lost in their own thoughts. Leo had his arm wrapped warmly around Piper, trying in vane to comfort her as best he could. A bowl of cereal sat in front of Piper, courtesy of Paige, but she'd barely touched it. She didn't have even a trace of an appetite.

Paige and Phoebe each had a cup of coffee in their hands; French vanilla for Phoebe, double-shot black espresso for Paige. Paige had downed half of her's in ne gulp, needing the energy, but Phoebe just sipped at hers, and stared down into the froth floating on the top, like an Oracle seeking answers in her scrying pool.

Wyatt had disapeared almost the moment they walked through the door. No one really noticed were he'd gone, but they trusted him to keep himself safe. He proably just needed a little time to himself.

The car ride back to the manor hadn't been any better. In fact, for Piper, it had been worse.

It had hurt her so much, seeing her baby lying there, perfectly still, so pale. She knew that it was painful for her sisters, and Leo and Wyatt too, but for Piper, his mother, it was the worst thing she had ever had to endure in her entire lifetime. And it had hurt even worse, having to leave him there, alone and so sick. All the time she sat next to him, holding his hand and talking to him, she could pretend that this wasn't happening; it just hadn't sunk in yet. For a moment, she'd likened it to a person having just found out a friend dies; they knew it was true, but it hadn't hit home yet. But Piper refused to compare her ailing son to death, and had shaken the image from her head.

Despite all the time she took to tell herself that he was fine, that he wasn't as sick as the doctors had made it out to be, the fact that he wasn't coming home with them had nearly torn her heart out. Driving back to the manor is when most of the Halliwell's realized just how serious this was; it was all starting to settle in.

The house had been so quiet when they walked in. Dark, still, and quiet.

Suddenly shoving her bowl away with a sigh, Piper rubbed her eyes with the heals of her hands and excused herself. She walked out of the room briskly; the last thing she wanted was for her family to see her crying again.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"I-I-I'm what?" Chris whispered softly, his quiet voice reverberating off the bare walls. Surely...Surely, he'd heard wrong. He wasn't really...

But the look of genuine sorrow, pity, in Clarences eyes were confirmation enough.

"You're dying Chris." Clarence said gently, as though his tone of voice could somehow soften the blow. "You're dying, and it probably won't be long now."

Chris felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach, all the air rushing out of his lungs. His legs shaking, threatening to give out beneath him, Chris leaned against the wall for support.

"Death rarely shows itself to people before they stop breathing," Clarence continued. "But...yours is a special case, Chris. You've been the talk of the Afterlife for 23 years."

"I was born 23 years ago; how does that constitute front page news in the Daily Dead?" Chris snapped, sinking to the floor. Leaning forward he hung his head between his knees; if he was close to...dying...then he sure didn't want to rush it along by blacking out.

"Because Chris; you weren't just born 23 years ago. You died just before."

"I WHAT?" Chris barked, his head snapping up again. "What the Hell are you talking about?"

"I told you, Chris. Your parents lied to you. " He stood and, never breaking Chris's gaze, walked slowly over to where he sat.

"You didn't go back to your future after you saved Wyatt, Chris. You died; you were murdered."

And Chris, the sarcastic smart ass, with quick wits and a come back to everything, was rendered speechless. What do you say to someone who just told you that you were murdered before you were even born.

"Y-You're lying!" he accused desperately. He just had to be...

"You know I'm not lying, Chris. You can deny it, but I'm not lying. You were killed 23 years ago, and because of that, you're dying now."

Chris shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, which were swirling and opaque.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked

"Do you know the date, Chris?" Clarence asked suddenly, once more seeming to change the subject.

Annoyed, Chris answered "It's November...19th?"

Clarence nodded. "Good. And what's tomorrow?"

"The twentieth", Chris said slowly, not knowing were all this was headed. "My 23rd birthday."

He nodded again. Setting on the floor several feet away from Chris, he sighed and steepled his fingers, as though deep in thought.

"Do you remember me telling you that you've been the talk of the Afterlife?"

"Yeah, it's not exactly a statement one forgets very quickly. It's kinda creepy to imagine death having a nice little chit-chat about me."

"Oh trust me boy, we had much more than a chit-chat. You did something that no other erson in the world has ever done."

"Oh really?" Chris feigned interest. "And what's that?"

"You cheated death."

Chris scoffed, and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Hundred of people have cheated death, Clarence." he said, as though speaking to a rather dim child.

A warm chuckle came from his right; he wondered how many people could say that they stared death in the face and it laughed at them.

"Not like you did, Chris. You know all about past lives, right?"

"Sure. Someone croaks, and if their souls haven't reached the afterlife yet, they're cleansed of all there sins and troubles and all that, and reborn, as an entirely new person, usually in the same circle of family."

"Very good," Clarence praised, and Chris half expected him to pat him on the head. "But see, here's the trouble. When you- past you- died, you're soul was directly reborn into you -present you."

"Yeah. And?" Chris prompted. He didn't have to feign interest now; Clarence really had him.

"And...your soul was never cleansed. The trials of your past life; as a time traveler; still cling to your soul, directly affecting you. All those spontaneous memories? All those outburst you've been having? They have all already happened to you once before, in your past life."

"God, does this Zen moment have a point to it?" Chris groaned, leaning his head back, and cursing as he cracked it on the wall behind him.

"Actually, Chris. It has a devastating point to it." Clarence replied Grimly. "You died exactly 23 years ago, on November 20th, just hours before you were born. You were 23 years old."

"And I'm turning 23 tomorrow." Chris filled in softly, with a sinking feeling as to what Clarence was going to say.

"Yes, you'll turn 23 years old tomorrow. Which means, that unless the laws of nature decide to spontaneously change within the next 17 hours, your soul, still having all it's karma, will die, just as it did in 2004"

There was a long, heavy silence, before Chris said, in a voice so low he could barely hear himself, "And a body can't live without a soul."

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Piper found her oldest sitting alone in the attic, corss-legged on the floor with a manajory of magic before him. A cauldron, herbs and spices and rare plants, and the Book. He was furiously flipping through the pages, so fast Piper was surprised he hadn't ripped any out. A close look at his face showed he had been crying.

"Wyatt?" she said quietly, not wanting to startle him. He paused, only a moment, and shot her a quick glance.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing sweetie?" she questioned, kneeling down next to him as best she could. He had book marked several pages with scraps of paper. Opening the book to one, she found a spell entitled "To undo a wrong."

"Nothing," he replied quickly, going back to rifling through a bunch of bottles.

"Wyatt, honey, what's this?" she pointed to the ancient page.

Wyatt didn't answer. He acted as though he couldn't even hear Piper.

Inching closer, he placed her hand lovingly on the back, trying to get him to talk to her. But Wyatt just jerked away from her, hard enough to tip the cauldron over on it's end, spilling hot water all over the attic floor.

"God damn it!" Wyatt swore. He reached out to set the cauldron back up, but was scalded by the hot metal.

"Son of a bitch!"

Frustrated, angry, confused, he sent the cursed cauldron crashing on the far side of the attic with a jerk of his arm. It crashed hard against an old bedframe, enough to dent it.

Shaking his head , tears spilling down his face, Wyatt broke down, collapsing to the floor. His balled his hands into fists, raising them up against his head, as though trying to block something out.

"Wyatt, Wyatt!" Piper called loudly, trying to get her oldest's attention. He was starting to frighten her.

"Wyatt Halliwell, look at me!" she demanded, in a tone that she felt was too harsh. But Wyatt looked up, his eyes red and swollen.

He didn't say a word.

Running her hands through his hair, Piper sighed, looking down at her first born. "Wyatt, sweet heart, I know this is hard on you, it's hard on all of us,"

Wyat nodded, wiping at his eyes furiously.

"Now, sweet heart, tell me what you were trying to do."

His breathing quiverym Wyatt looked away, as though ashamed of something.

"I- I messed up. I screwed up, and and...I wwas trying to ffix it..." he said. Sniffling. He felt so degreading, bawling in front of his mother like that. He just had to pull himself together; for his Mom...for Chris.

Piper continued to brush ou Wyatt unruly curls, tucking them behind his ears. "Wyatt, what could you have done? You haven't done anything wrong, sweetie. You've been here for your family, for your brother...he's so lucky to have you..."

"No! Nom, he's not! He would have been just fine without me!" he tried to pull away from his mother, but Piper held fast to his wrists.

"Wyatt, Wyatt! Please! You aren't making any sense!"

Wyatt stopped struggling against Piper, and seemed to calm down. He kept brushing his sleeve against his eyes. Standing slowly, Piper grabbed a box of Tissue from a coffee table, and offered it to Wyatt. He grate fully accepted, and they spent the next several minutes sitting quietly together, Piper's arms wrapped warmly around he son.

"M-Mom?" Wyatt hiccupped slowly.

"What is it Wyatt?" she asked lovingly, turning to look at him.

He looked so broken, so afraid...

"Mom? There...there's something I need to tell you..."

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I can't believe it's been over a year since I published this story! August 8th was the one year anniversary! Thanks yo to everyone who reviewed, especially anyone who has stuck with me from the beginning!

And of course, the best way to celebrate a fan fictions anniversary? Is to send it (me) reviews!

A/N. You should thank ChrisForever (JessieBee185) for two things. One, getting me to update this today, and two, saving you all from a cliffie! But don't worry, you'll get the cliffie next chapter!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	16. Chapter 16

Hey guys! Remember me? LLC? Yes? No? I'm not surrised. Poor poor Destined to Die! How I've neglected thee!

Yeah, I know. It's been WAY to long! But what can I say Real life, in the form of Algebra II and Chemistry, got in the way! ANYway, I present to you, to the credit of JessieBee, the new chater of Destined to Die!

A/N: Alas, Babylon- tells of a small Florida town surviving the post-Apocalyptic world from nuclear war, in which the vast majority of the world was wiped out completely. Possibly the single best book every written, period.

On The Beach- a bit like AB. Takes place in Australia, where the population waits…and waits…for radiation from nuclear war in the Northern Hemisphere to make it's way south.

The Girl Who Owned a City- Amazingly chilling story of our world after a virus sweeps the earth, killing every single person above the age of 12, leaving the children to learn to survive and rebuild the world.

AAA- DNR- Do not resuscitate. A hospital form signed saying one does not want any heroic actions to occur if they stop breathing. Piper and Leo are asked to sign one for Chris

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Chris stood gazing out the small, curtain less window that, in his world, looked out into the hospitals courtyard, surrounded by the building itself. Chris, of course, having been barely conscious, hadn't seen the courtyard before, but he assumed it would have been occupied by patients well enough to leave their rooms, and visitors just trying to get some fresh air, to decompress.

And it was probably in color…so, there was that, too…

Hospitals had never been a particularly joyful place, for anyone, but in this world? It was medievaly dreary. Black, white, and shades of grey. Even Chris himself was devoid of hue, his nearly white skin in stark contrast to his black hair.

But even more profound than the silent-movie-era décor, was the desolate silence that seeped from every wall, every corner. Every room in the expansive hospital was completely barren of not only people, but objects. No tables, beds, carts, curtains…nothing. The open space was more than unsettling; Chris had never felt more alone in his entire life. He'd read stories about the end of the world in school; Alas, Babylon, On The Beach, The Girl Who Owned a City…all had depicted a world after some sort of end, be it from nuclear war, or an unstoppable virus. Each author had woven a spine-chilling thought-provoking picture of isolation, loneliness, and silence.

Bu no work of fiction could possibly compare to this.

One would think that the ghostly plane version of a hospital would have several souls wandering around, waiting to ascend (or Descend) into the afterlife. Yet Chris had met no one, and he had searched the entire hospital, room by room, his bare feet echoing eerily off the cavernous rooms, that seemed so small when one was actually forced to be there. Chris had no obligation, and had fled quickly. Battling demons, speaking with ghosts…nothing had scared him so primaly than realizing that he was the only 'soul' to be found, possibly in this entire world…

"How you holdin' up, Chris?" came Clarence's voice from the doorway, bringing Chris out of his reflections.

Chris pretended for a moment as though he had not heard the Angel of Death, and continued to study the courtyard; several wooden benches, bare trees and bushes, their leaves having crumbled and blown away long before this November morning…if they ever HAD leaves in this plane…

"How am I holding up?" Chris repeated after some consideration. "You just told me I'm destined to die in less than 24 hours. How do you THINK I'm holding up?"

"Better than most, actually," Clarence replied with the smallest trace of amusement in his timbery voice. "I've had people cry, scream, even threaten to kill me!"

"And this is supposed to cheer me up?" Chris sneered, turning his attention to Clarence, though still leaning on the window sill.

The angel shook his head no. "You have no right to be cheerful Chris," he conceded. "And I'm not here to make this a joyful occasion; I'm here to help you cope. To help you accept this."

"Accept that my brother was a homicidal maniac in another life, and I have to die TWICE because of it?" he accused, his Halliwell temper rearing once more. "How screwed up is that?"

"No one ever said life was going to be fair, kid," Clarence admonished, using one f Chris's most hated clichés.

"But this isn't life, is it?" Chris said after a slight pause. "It's death. And if Life isn't fair, shouldn't death have some sort of equality there?"

"But death IS life, Chris," Clarence explained, going cryptic once more. "Nothing that lives, lives forever. It dies eventually. It's al part of an eternal circle."

"You've seen The Lion King one too many times, you know that?" Chris said, showing his trademark sarcasm. "I was born a witch Clarence, and raised Wiccan and Christian. I know all about the whole eternal circle, life-after-death thing. I don't need you going all Obi-Wan on me here.

"You've always been such smart-alec, Christopher. It's how you deal."

Chris scowled at him, athames shooting from his eyes. Figuratively. "You think you know me?"

"Actually, yes. I do. I've watched over you, BOTH of you, for years."

"I'm touched," he replied, with mock sincerity.

"You should be grateful, young man. You could have had Death himself come after your a-"

"Wait I thought YOU were death?" Chris asked, suddenly giving Clarence his full attention. His question was met only with laughter.

"Me? Death? Not on you life…no pun intended. See boy, I'm only one angel of many; hundreds, with Death himself being like…n archangel."

"And the more souls you 86, the higher up you are on the higherarchy?" Chris snipped moodily once more.

His companion looked somewhat insulted, if not mortally offended.

"We do not '86' souls, boy," he answered, his voice low and uncharacteristically threatening. "All names on our list would die, whether we are there or not. We don't kill; we simply carry them here, or too the afterlife." He paused momentarily, studying the young man before him. "You're just like your Aunt Prue. She was a stubborn little witch, just like yourself."

"You knew my Aunt Prue?" Chris asked, leaning against the window ledge, almost casually.

"Eh, not directly. But Death talked about how insufferably imprudent she was. Rather ironic, considering her name… "

"What about my grandmother? And Grams? Do you know them?" Grams and Grandma hadn't gotten to visit as often as they would have liked over the years; Chris has met Grams no more than five times in his life, and had been able to talk to him Grandma only twice.

"Oh yeah. I know them," Clarence replied, though curiously, he didn't meet Chris's eye. "Great women, they are. Though, by the looks of things, you won't have to take my word for it much longer…

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There was a heavy silence in the attic, lasting only a few seconds; but to both Wyatt and Piper, it seemed to span longer than either of them could fathom.

Piper sat quietly, taking a long look at her oldest son He was pale, his hands shaking slightly. She reached out and took them in her own warm hands, stilling them.

"Wyatt?" she prompted, "What is it? What do you want to tell me?" but Wyatt just shook his head, not able to meet Piper's eyes.

"Wyatt, you-you know you can tell me anything." She continued, trying to keep her voice soft.

"Not this," Wyatt whispered finally. "I-I just can't.."

Piper's nerves were becoming rayed. It was enough that he youngest was so ill, but now something serious was troubling her oldest, and he seemed to be in so much pain…

"Wyatt," she said finally. "Whatever it is that's wrong, we can fix it, ok? N matter what it is, it'll be OK.."

"No, it won't…." Wyatt said, his voice breaking. He closed his crystal blue eyes, and took a deep breath. "It's all my fault…."

"What's your fault, baby?" Piper asked, squeezing his hand gently. Wyatt peered up at he hesitantly, and broke down His shoulders shook as the tears poured down his face.

"It's my fault," he cried gain. "It's my fault that Chris is so sick…"

"Wyatt, that's ridiculous," Piper reassured, pulling her son close, as though he were younger than his 24 years. "How could it possibly be your fault?"

Wyatt said nothing for a minute, just wiped furiously as his wet eyes. "He-he didn't want to-to-to go, but I made him,"

Piper's brw furrowed deeply in confusion. "Wyatt, sweetie, what are you talking about? He didn't want to go where?"

Wyatt's voice was almost in perceivable now, and his words were choked. "I took him out of the country, Mom." He confessed. "We went to-to the meteor shower."

"Meteor sho…the one on the Sabbath?" she clarified, comprehension beginning to dawn. "You two went to the shower? But that was in…"

Wyatt just nodded slowly, his head hung low, his long curls laying wildly by his reddened face. "I made him go…and now he's so sick…"

Piper was at a loss. She had wondered, for so many hours, how Chris had come down with such an illness. But….now that she knew…Oh God.."

"Wyatt…Wyatt, listen to me," she cupped him chin, tilting his head upward. His face was blotched and wet, and his eyes were red-rimmed. "This is not your fault, do you understand me?" Piper could feel a lump growing in her throat, and she struggled to suppress it. "It's not your fault; it just…it just happened, OK?"

"But," Wyatt began, trying to pull himself together.

"No o buts," Piper whispered, a simple drop running down her cheek. "Your brother is going to get better, and we can put this whole thing behind us, you hear me?"

And Wyatt wanted t believe her, more than anything. But…he couldn't shake the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

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"What time is it?"

"Time don't matter none here." Clarence replied in his I Know All cryptic voice, which Chris found insufferably annoying.

"Fine. If I were home, what time would it be?" he revised, irritated.

"Late afternoon. Bout..six, maybe."

"SIX?!" he exclaimed, sitting up from his slump against the wall. "How can it be six already?"

Clarence kept the placid, peaceful look on his craggy fce as he explained, "Time has no meaning here, Chris. A soul could be here for what heels like a few days, and really have been dead for a thousand years. Or, on he other hand, one could feel as though THIS is were they will spend their afterlife, year after year, only to be revived, just moments after their heart stopped."

Chris just groaned and shook his head, long hair swaying around his face. "This is ridiculous. I gotta get out of here…"

"How?" questioned the Angel. "Your powers don't work here, 'member? Besides, even if you DID make it back, it would be to a weak and dying body, and I'd see you again in a few hours anyway."

"No, you wouldn't." Chris replied stubbornly, looking him in the eye. "My family will figure out a way to save me."

Clarence said nothing for a while, simply stared at a blank wall before him. After several minutes, he asked; "Why are you so afraid of dying?"

Chris was slightly caught off guard; he wasn't expecting that.

"I'm not afraid," he answered, mulling it over. "I just don't want to."

"With all the good you and your family has done, you'd probably go straight t the next stage. Your grandmother is waiting for you. Your aunt, too…"

"No!" Chris shouted, trying to block the old man out. "You're just trying to get to me, promising me some great afterlife! But I don't WANT the afterlife; I have to much BEFORE life to live! I'm only 23!"

"And some are only twenty. Others, barely teens, and some aren't even able to speak yet. You're young Chris. Someone at your funeral will probably speak of a life cut short; they always do. But thousands of others are younger than you. Not everyone can live to be old and gray with their family. In your world, death is a tragedy. Here…it's just life."

Hearing someone discuss his own funeral sent shivers down Chris's back, raising the fine, light hairs on his neck. It silenced him for a moment…he hadn't thought of that. His family, his parents and brother…they'd have to bury him. They'd….No! no, that's not happening…

It's not…

It can't…

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Almost eight now. Visiting hours would end soon. Yet the Halliwell's still haunted the first floor of the hospital, wandering between the waiting room, the corridors, and Chris's room. Wyatt was in with him at the moment. Piper thought it would be best to give him some time alone with his little brother.

The doctor had told them Chris's body was weakening, that he didn't think his heart could hold out much longer. That they should start making arrangements…

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It was half past nine, and still the nurses hadn't kicked the family out. Piper and Leo both had the feeling Dr. Olrich, doubting the frailty of Chris's condition, had allowed them to stay. He said…he said it wouldn't be long now. A day, at most, and that was generous.

Leo sat t his sons side, barely holding it together. The thought that he could loose Chris; not once, but twice; was incomprehensible. But he was so pale, and the monitors had begun to slow, some, to skip…

He'd spent years in medical school, earned his license; but he didn't need that training to see that his son was dying.

He could see it in his pallor, in his thin, lanky frame. Could see it on the monitor screens, with every number being much too high, or much too low. He knew Chris was strong, that he was a fighter; but there's only so much one soul can take…

It was ten now.

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As children, Chris and Wyatt had in their heritage an endless chasm of bedtime stories and life morals from events in their parents lives. One tale that Chris found mortifying, and Wyatt found hilarious, was one that took place nearly 24 years before. It told of his Mom and Dad, stuck in the Ghostly Plain, trying to evade a darklighter. This was as far as Chris paid attention though, as the rest involved a VERY early time in Chris's life.

And now Chris was beating himself up over it.

His mom had managed to make contact with her sisters; through past life him, ironically…but how she did it, he couldn't remember. He'd always turned away and fled the room, red faced, by the time she got to this part.

"Chris."

"What do you want, Clarence?" Chris bit coldly, not looking up fro his perch on the end of the bed, which was decidedly more comfortable than the floor.

"It's nearly midnight, son," he continued, his voice a touch quieter than it had been before.

"And? What's your point?"

"Well, I could reply with an ironic retort, and wish you a Happy Birthday," the growl in Chris's throat warned against this. "Or I can simply tell you…It's almost time, Chris."

Chris said nothing for a long moment, contemplating the weight of that simple sentence.

"So it's midnight?" he confirmed, looking down at his hands. They where shaking, ever so slightly.

"Couple minutes past," replied the angel, seating himself down at the foot of the bed. He was expecting this from Chris' he'd been like this once, so many years ago when he'd faded away. Not…not acceptance, perhaps. But resignation to his fate, more like. "It will only be a few more minutes."

Chris continued to stare down at his hands, studying their lines and the fold of their fingers, his bitten nails and the car across his left wrist from a nasty manticor incident. He pulled a loose string in his hospital gown, picking at the ravel. Anything to distract him from his impeding death.

He had never expected his death to be like this. Ideally, he'd die an old, old man, his children and grandchildren all alive and healthy, like that chick in that ship movie. Or, his life would be taken suddenly in a demon battle, with Chris defending an innocent. A blaze of glory…

But never did he expect to go like this, succumbing to a fever at 23. It was freaking 2027, for crying out loud! Nobody died of fevers anymore…

And he certainly did not expect to learn, in his final hours, that he'd already been through this once. From a murder, no less.

It was strange, really; Clarence had told him that all those flashes he'd been having, that had been written off as illness, had all really happened. His brother grew up wanting to hurt him. Bianca had died trying to help him…but he'd hardly given it much thought. He hadn't had time, with him supposed to die soon and all. Course, if he WAS going to ie, he'd have an eternity to ponder his past life…

But there was still a chance, of course…there was still time to make a connection, to get through the barrier. He…he couldn't just close his eyes and accept his death; he was a Halliwell and Halliwells do NOT just give in…

"You've lived a good life, Chris. So many people owe you their lives." Clarence broke through the silence, and Chris had the feeling he was at his own wake already. "You and your brother have shown that you aren't just the Charmed One's sons; the Power of Two is more revered now in the magical community than the Power of Three!"

"Clarence, this is NOT the time for an ego boost," Chris muttered, rubbing his temples tiredly, a headache forming.

Clarence smiled faintly, the furrows f his brow deepening. "Perhaps not. But people often like to talk about their lives when they know their time is near. And since you ain't much of a talker, I figured I'd get ye started."

"How thoughtful," Chris snapped, standing to get away from the bed. He had to pause a moment, though, as a dizziness overtook him. He closed his jade eyes, and waited for it to pass. If he'd looked back at Clarence at that moment, he'd see a sad sort of triumph I his eyes, as though….he knew he was right, but he didn't WANT to be…

Having found his bearings, Chris continued. "I still have a few minutes! My family is known for last-minute ideas! I could always-" he stopped abruptly, as a stronger episode of vertigo swept through him, so powerful he had to sit.

Vaguely, he was ware of movement to his left as Clarence stood. It was several moments before his world steadied itself once more.

"Don't fight it, Chris. Your passing will be more pleasant if you embrace it.

"Embrace it my a-ahh," he groaned, and he room began to spin again, and this time, it wasn't letting up. He could feel Clarences hand on his shoulder, and hear his voice, but the swirling and twisting of the empty room around him tok most of his attention. His stomach, whirled up to his throat, threatening to make an appearance, and Chris willed it back down where it belonged.

The edges of his vision had begun o darken, whilst the center was brightening, very softly.

'Oh, terrific,' Chris thought before the light consumed him. "The freakin' light at the end of he tunnel…'

He couldn't hear Clarences voice anymore. A shrill, steady tone could be heard in the distance, and he could swear he could hear a woman scream….

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Leo's watch beeped twice as the digital numbers switched from 11:59 to midnight. The start of a new day, a very special day…but they wouldn't celebrate it as they had for the past 22 years. Well, 21…

Piper had always regretted canceling her sons first birthday, but it never clawed at her more than right now, knowing full well that if his doctors were right, he wouldn't see his 24th birthday, or even be conscious enough to acknowledge this one before he…

"Happy birthday, baby," Piper whispered, kissing her sons so gently on his forehead, wanting to withdraw when she felt the steady, encroaching heat.

He lay so still…He hadn't moved once in hours. His eye lids were closed lightly over green irises, in a poor mockery of sleep.

A nurse came in very hour to check on him. Some smiled at them pityingly.. Others didn't even meet their eyes. They'd jot down notes; adjust a few monitors and quickly leave.

His breath was grating slightly now, as though it was hard for him. Olrich had guaranteed them that Chris was deeply unconscious, that he'd go peacefully, with no pain. He asked Piper and Leo to sign a DNR so Chris could fade with no interference, but they refused flat-out. Olrich had argued, reasoned that even if they did manage to revive him, it would be for only a few minutes; it wouldn't last. Let him go.

But every moment was important to his parents, and to his aunts and brother. And every moment could bring an epiphany, an idea to save him.

All they needed was that one moment...a single moment.

A shrill, screaming noise broke through the extending silence, piercing and unsettling. With a panicked heart, Piper and Leo looked up simultaneously. They barely had time to register the flat, unmoving line across the screen before they felt hands on them, urging them away from their son's bedside. So many people, all hurrying around, shouting numbers, letters…

Piper and Leo stood just a few yards away, in the doorway, watching the chaos before them. Piper felt her breath catch in her chest; surely this wasn't real…she was dreaming…things like this happen in movies, not…not in real life…but all the same, she stood, clinging to Leo's arm so tightly it would surely bruise. And Leo…His eyes were glassed over, and wide. And throughout the ruckus and panic, the shrieking blare of the alarm could still be heard.

"Still no pulse," someone commented, but Piper didn't care who. Everything around her was cracking, splitting down the middle, with her in the cracks…

"Charging, clear," called out a voice, Dr. Ollrich's. A muffled 'whump' sounded, and Chris's torso arched off his bed. Everyone was still for a short moment, waiting, hoping…but still nothing.

"Charging, clear," was said once more, with more strain in the tone. And again, Piper watched her youngest lift several inches, and still…nothing. Only the steady siren…

"No," Piper whispered quietly, too quietly to be heard. "no, no, this…NO!" she cried out, the weight of what was happening finally settling n her shoulders. "_Noo!"_

Twice more, they tried to shock his heart into beating, and twice more, Piper felt hers breaking. This couldn't be happening…it couldn't…Nobody said anything for a long moment. They stopped working, and Piper couldn't figure out why. Why were they just standing there, looking at each other? Why weren't they trying anymore? Her son still lay perfectly still, so pale…

And then, one voice did answer Pipers silent plea for answers…but it was the last thing in the world she wanted to hear.

"Time of death, 12:24 am."

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LLC is not here right now. LLC has gone to hide from her reviewers, before they decide to call HER time of death.

Lottsa love (don't hurt me!)

LLC


	17. Chapter 17

Hey Y'all! Ah, it's been TOO long, dontcha think? So long with such an evil cliffie! Hehehe! (notices the looks of death being thrown at her) Hey, hey, don't throw things at me! I sorry about the long, long wait! I just wanted this chapter to turn out right!

So, without further ado…

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God, it was cold outside; the bitter sharp November winds whipped straight through the thin pullover Wyatt was wearing. It blew through his hair and numbed his face, his hands, causing them to ache with cold and sting. But he didn't care; perhaps, on some level, he believed he deserved it; despite what his other had told him, he couldn't stop the seed of self-hatred from taking root and sprouting, vining through his heart, his mind, his soul. His little brother, his baby brother was lying inside the anonymous, concrete building he leaned against, fighting, losing…all because of him

He knew he should go inside; with the subzero winds, he could get frostbitten in no time at all. Not that he cared much. Besides, if he was going to get hurt, a hospital was the best place for it to happen.

He was considering orbing to the bridge, or perhaps going back inside to try and see Chris, if they'd let him, when he heard the automatic doors swoosh open beside him. Reflexively, he turned, not thinking it would be anyone he recognized; but it was; his parents, actually.

His mother and father were walking hand in hand, both pale, both looking so much older than Wyatt had ever seen them. His mother was stooped over, holding on to Leo as though she would be blown away by the wind if she let go of his hand. And she never looked up, never looked at her oldest. But Leo did. His eyes were red, tearstained, but he looked directly at Wyatt, his first son…

"Dad, is everything OK?" he ventured, sensing that something was wrong; and when someone you love is terribly sick, "wrong" is worse than anything.

"Dad…Dad, is Chris OK?" Wyatt barely heard his own voice, and what he picked up was shaky. "Dad…"

Leo Sighed, his voice quivering, and two more tears ran down his cheek. "Wyatt…" he began softly, gently. "Wyatt, come inside…"

"No. Tell me what's wrong." He insisted, knowing that what they had to say wasn't good.

Piper held a Kleenex t his eyes, her body shaking as though holding back sobs. "Wyatt, please," Leo asked again. "We need to talk…" his voice began to crack as he spoke, and that's when Wyatt knew; he just knew…

He and Chris had always been connected; something that rn deeper than the blood ties of brothers, deeper than the connection of a coven. They knew when each other was angry, upset, worried, no matter where they were, ever since they were little…

"Dad…Is Chris…is he…?" he couldn't form the words on his tongue; helll, he couldn't even form them in his brain!

Leo stepped forward one step, then two, letting go of Piper's hand for a moment and wrapped them around Wyatt, holding his close as he had when he was a child, when he'd fallen down, when he was scared.

"Wyatt…Wyatt, he's gone." He murmured, tears flowing freely now, falling into Wyatt's wild, blonde curls.

"No." Wyatt whispered fiercely, grabbing fistfuls of his father's jacket, not caring that he was 25 frickin' years old. "No!"

"It was quick." Leo tried to consol him, or himself, Wyatt wasn't sure which. "He was still asleep. He never felt…"

"How do you know?" Wyatt interjected, a note of bitterness in his voice. "He was so sick, Dad. How do you know he didn't feel anything?"

Behind them, Wyatt could hear his mother's breath hitch a she started crying again. He felt bad for upsetting her, but he couldn't find it in himself to care much. His brother, his baby brother…

Leo sniffed, running his hands through Wyatt's hair, now damp from his own mourning. "He never woke up once, Wyatt," he tried to reassure him that his brothers' passing was peaceful. "Never stirred. His heart just gave out…" his voice trailed off, his own words becoming too painful to hear.

Wyatt wasn't one to cry. He was one to storm in, guns blazing and vanquish whatever hurt his family. A Demon, a Dark lighter… but how could he seek revenge on sickness? On Fever? He couldn't. He couldn't help his brother, he was gone… There was nothing left to save, nothing to destroy…

He felt hot trails run down his cheeks, burning his eyes like battery acid. He felt his fathers arms holding him tight, brushing his hair, rubbing his back. His throat ached, though not nearly as much as the gaping hole in his chest

"I wanna see him, Dad," he sobbed, wiping furiously at the unrelenting stream of salt water.

Leo shook his head. "Wyatt, I don't-"

"No, I want to see him!" Wyatt demanded. "Dad, I HAVE to see him, I just have to!"

Leo clenched his jaw, his eyes closed tightly. He couldn't keep Wyatt from seeing his brother; he had every right to do so. But…but as his father, he wanted to protect him, like he did when he was little, spare him from the pain of having to see Chris-

"Alright, Wyatt." He relented, holding him for another moment, kissing him gently atop his mess of curly hair. "Come on inside. We'll get you in to see him."

Wyatt nodded, standing shakily. He wasn't sure if the trembling was from cold or fear or hurt or all three.

Piper also began to make her way to her feet. She hadn't spoken a word, not one.

"Mom…" Wyatt helped her to stand; she was quivering more than he was. And he pulled her close, as his father had done for him. The last few days had made an old woman out of his mom; she seemed so thin and frail in his arms.

"Come on," Leo's voice came from behind him, his hand resting on his shoulder. "It's freezing out here…" it seemed so weird, to be speaking of the weather so normally. Then again, the subject they should be speaking of seemed too elusive to talk about…as though if they spoke his name, something would change, and not for the better…

Wyatt hadn't realized how cold it was until the double doors swooshed open again, and he walked back into the lobby. Thee receptionist smiled warmly at them, obviously not ware of the turmoil boiling inside each of them.

Before, the walk to the waiting room had seemed a dreadfully long trak; they couldn't get to Chris quickly enough. And now? Now, he still wished to see him, but for a different reason…

Aunt Paige was sitting in a chair near the door, just clicking off her cell phone. Aunt Phoebe was still on hers; she spoke softly to her oldest daughter, Wyatt guessed, as Uncle Coop was out of town that evening; he wouldn't be home till early next morning.

"Carrilyn, sweetie? Put Melinda on the phone, baby." She asked her middle child. Melinda was her oldest, at 16. Wyatt didn't want to hear how she'd break the news.

"Dad, I-" Wyatt began, but Leo cut him off gently, guiding him down to a chair.

"Someone will come say when it's OK to see him," Leo explained, and Wyatt didn't understand how Leo was able to keep hiss composure so well Shock, probably. Disbelief.

Wyatt nodded, chewed on a hangnail and tried to ignore his aunt's cracked voice and the distant sound of Melinda crying over the phone.

Though he was now inside, surrounded by the warmth of the heater, Wyatt still felt the sharp, painful bite in his limbs. Weather it was from the warming of his hands from the freezing cold, or if his own heart had stopped with Chris's, and ceased to circulate his blood through his limbs, he wasn't sure. But he welcomed the pain. It distracted him from the sharp stabbing in his chest. He tried to concentrate solely on the burning, letting it overwhelm his senses, his experience. Let t consume him. He deserved it, after all.

He thought he would have startled at the sudden opening of the waiting room door, but he barely acknowledged it. He vaguely listened as Dr. Ollrich expressed his condolences to his parents, suggested arrangements and numbers to call. He didn't really tune into the conversation until his mother shook his shoulder lightly.

"Wyatt, you can go see him," she told him softly. She had stopped crying for a moment, though her eyes were still swollen and red.

He nodded, standing immediately. He wanted so badly to see Chris. Perhaps a part of him was in denial, and had to see it for himself.

He knew where Chris's room was, yet the doctor seemed to think he had to lead him there.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," he said, and Wyatt said nothing. It was a generic, practiced line of sympathy and Wyatt knew it held no truth. Perhaps he was sorry, perhaps he would feel bad about the loss of that young man for a while, but would he remember Chris Halliwell a month from now? Two months? A year? Wyatt doubted it seriously.

"Have all the time you need," he was told at the door, and Ollrich turned and left, as though afraid to enter the door, afraid to be taunted by his failure. Wyatt couldn't help but scoff at his back; such a wimp. It's something Chris would think…

Ordinarily, he would think he'd be hesitant to enter the room, to see someone he loved lifeless, still. But, he guessed, one can't ever know what they'd do until it happens…

The curtain was drawn all the way around Chris's bed. It was already too silent. The steady beeping, tracking the beat of Chris's weakening but still warm heart was noticeably absent. There was no soft whoosh of oxygen, no swish of rustling bed sheets…

He pulled the curtain back gently, almost as though he was afraid to wake his sleeping brother. He almost winced at the clinking sound of the hangers screeching in the track; it was ungodly loud in the stifling silence.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. The last time he'd seen Chris, he was barely awake, with tubes and wires and monitors covering every part of him, trying to help him breath, help keep him from being in pain…

Chris still lay on his back in bed, the sheets pulled up to just below his thin chest. But there were no more tubes running to his wrist, no more wires snaking out from the neck of his gown. All the machines had been pushed back, aside, out of the way, leaving only Chris.

While Chris's passing seemed to have aged their parents, death had, ironically, seemed to bring the past to Chris. Though his eyes were darkened and sunken, and his face pale, he looked so many years younger. He always did when he was sleep…

Wyatt had always heard that the dead appear to only be sleeping. That was bull. Chris didn't look like he was sleep; he slept curled up on his side, arm crossed in front of him. Sleeping on his back had always given him a backache.

There was one chair now sitting beside Chris's bed, and Wyatt slowly lowered himself down into it. The railings had been lowered; no reason to keep them up. His dark hair, which had been dampened by his fever, was now dry, and it looked as though someone, a nurse, most likely, had taken the time to brush through it with a comb.

"Chris." Wyatt breathed, resting his palm against Chris's cheek. It was cool now, as opposed to the searing heat his skin had been gving off earlier. God, how he'd prayed to feel his skin this cool just hours before. Now, it sickened him. "Oh God, Chris…"

His mother had spent so long trying to reassure him that Chris's sickness wasn't his fault, that he wasn't to blame. But…what about Chris's death? Even though his mothers words still reverberated in his head, he couldn't' help but feel that Chris would still be breathing if it wasn't for him.

"Chris…Chris, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" he murmured, his voice catching behind the lump forming in his throat he took Chris's hand n his own; it was cool, and limp and felt unnatural. They said death was a art of life, but Wyatt couldn't help but urse the one who first uttered that little gem. It mocked him. Death was not a part of life; Chris was. He had been so full of life. And now he wasn't. Siple as that. How could death be a part of life, when the dead had no more in them?

He felt nauseous, thinking of his brother as simply 'the dead.' Dead. The word was as foul as any other four-letter word. It brought to mind rotting corpses and cemeteries and-

Wyatt shook his head, his brow furrowed. Not words he wanted associated with his brother. Chris was sill his brother, not a memory, not a…a corpse. It was Chris, his baby brother…

"I'm so sorry, Chris," he continued, keeping in the same path. "I love you so much, and I'm sorry."

CPHCPHCPHCPHPHCPHCHCPHCHCPHCPHCPH

When his father came looking for him a half hour later, Wyatt was still at Chris's bedside. Leo was reluctant, it seemed, to come past the curtain. He said something about needing to let him go, which Wyatt found strange; he was gone already; how can you let go of something already gone? But then he noticed a pair of white shirted men lingering well behind Leo, nd he realized with a bit of shame and a lot of anguish what he mean; they needed to take Chris now…

And every fiber I his body screamed "Don't let them!" his logical side, of course, knew they needed too, but his instincts, the very core of his being was shouting at him, No! No, stay with him…it was as thought something horrible, unspeakable would happen if they took him…as though everything would fall apart, as though he'd loose his chance…

Perhaps he was loosing his mind from grief, but the whole time he sat vigil at his brothers bedside, he'd felt on edge. Not on-edge like when they where expecting a demon attack, but more like when someone is going to tell you something, and they just won't get on with it. But that was ridiculous, of course. Chris…He had nothing to say, nothing to tell him. Not in this world of course…

And he froze. Frozen stone-cold, as though he had never left the bitter San Francisco winter outside. ' Nothing to tell him.' He felt like hitting himself for being such a fool. He and his brother were witches, for God's sake! They dealt with ghosts and spirits on a weekly basis! Unfinished business, and all that. Was it so far-fetched an idea that Chris had unfinished business on this earth? Who would more so than a 23 year old, cut down well before his time?

Maybe…maybe he did have something to tell him…

"Wyatt…"

Leo's voice still cut into his thoughts every few seconds, but Wyatt wasn't paying attention.

When his Grandmother or Grams wanted to tell them something, they usually brought themselves down to Earth. But, sometimes…

"Wyatt, son, please!" he heard Leo's voice plead, but Wyatt's rose above him:

"_Powers of the Warren Line_

_Ability to control time._

_Come to my aid and freeze these souls,_

_Bitterness of a solid cold."_

Not his best work; Chris would laugh at his pitiful rhymes, but it did the trick. Leo froze, as did the orderlies. The ringing and bustle at the nurses station quieted to a silence. He sighed, relieved. It was a bit ironic, he found. He had been so put off, disturbed by the silence before; now it comforted him. Turning back to his brother, he stood, placing his hand gently back down top the bed sheets, and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"I'll fix this, Chris," he swore. "I caused it, and now Ill fix it, I promise."

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

The house was dark and silent, a rare occurrence. It was just hi, Chris and their parents now; there aunts and cousins all lived a ways away, but even still, the house was never completely dark or silent. Chris talked in his sleep, Dad had a bad habit of leaving the radio on in the garage. Piper's oven timer was always beeping. Now, the only sounds to be heard was the tick-tock the grandfather clock, the drip of the broken faucet in the downstairs bathroom and Wyatt's racing heart.

He added thundering footsteps to the orchestra of silence, just seconds after the tinkleing of orbs faded away. He raced up the steps two at a time, scaling both flights in 10 seconds.

He spent the majority of his time at home in the attic, often with Chris, writing spells, going through leather-bound tomes. They had always been so proud of their heritage, unlike their cousins, who mostly scoffed and rejected it.

A streetlight filtered through the stained glass windows, painting the floors yellow and red and blue.

The Book had grown several scores of pages in the last 2 decades. Several added by his mother, most by Chris and himself. Fresh, new pages always seemed to appear throughout the book. You might leaf through 3 pages of vampires, Wendigos and brute demons one day, and find a dozen blank sheets of parchment separating them the next. The thick book was a family heritage, an heirloom the boys would soon inherit. It was a resource, a treasure, an invaluable tool. And the Halliwell equivalent of long-distance AT&T.

The book weighed a good 15 pounds. No trouble for Wyatt usually, but the book seemed to absorb the weight of his anxiety when he touched it, the added pounds of worry and despair and grief. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds in his arms.

Carrying it over to the window seat for light, he bagan leafing through the crinkled pages. The Wicca Creed, the history of his family. He flipped hurriedly past passages on Barbus and Balthezar, on vanquishes for banshees and summoning spells. He had little use for information of Valhalla and The Underworld and a chart for ranking the level of demons. He hurriedly turned the pages pausing long enough to just read the heading, and o on. But one article caught his eye; a large piece of paper, folded upon itself into the book. A family tree.

Wyatt paused, puzzled. He didn't recall this entry. The tree's "roots" began with Charlotte, then Melinda. It extended down to Helena, Laura, and names he couldn't pronounce. All women, of course. Carrie, Marie, then the P tradition started. Peggy, Pearl, Patty, Penny, Penelope…

And there were his mother and aunts. Prudence, Piper, Phoebe, Paige. He smiled to himself, despite the dire situation. Aunt Prue had died several years ago, before she could marry, but the other three continued to branch, down to more girls, and to himself and Chris.

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell: February 22, 2003 –

Christopher Perry Halliwell: November 20, 2004 –

Wyatt's self-allowed grin faded in a flash, as a new line of printed lettering began to appear on the page written by a phantom hand.

Christopher Perry Halliwell: November 20, 2004 – November 20, 2027

It would have been more bearable for someone to rip his eyes out through the back of his skull than to look at the shining new date written upon the yellowed parchment. November 20. That was supposed to be a day of celebrating Chris's life. Now the day was forever tainted, darkened by an end of life…

Wyatt, his temper flaring, turned he page with more furousity than he intended, tearing good inch of paper, and not caring. Actually, several pages were no torn and dog-eared…

He was about ready to turn back to the start to flip through again, when suddenly; the blank page he'd dismissed began to glow. It glowed golden, dimly at first then intensified, and pulsed, finally thrumming in an almost blinding flash and faded in a blink, leaving behind several lines of glistening black ink. Wyatt immediately recognized his brother's sloppy, untidy scrawl:

_Wyatt, this book's, like, a thousand year old; treat it with some respect!_

_Don't blame yourself; please, don't. I don't blame you. I spent too much of myself blaming myself for everything. I can't stand the thought of you going through the same pain_

_November 19, 2004_

_I love you, Wyatt. Take care, Blessed Be._

Wyatt re-read the short passage a dozen times, memorizing every word.

I don't blame you.

How could he not? How could he not see- But he cut his train of thought of. Whatever the reason, Chris didn't hold him responsible for his death…

November 19, 2004…that was the day before he was born…Damm Chris! Always had to be so cryptic! He knew what the date was, but what did it MEAN?

He ran his hands through is hair in exasperation, blowing a puff of air between pursed lips, and went to close the boo, when he noticed one more sentence at the bottom of the page:

_P.S. I don't care what you say about 25; age 23 sucked both times around._

"Age 23 sucked both times around." He read out loud, as though speaking those words would bring more sense into them. "-Both times around…"

And it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Age 23 sucked both times around.

He nearly flew off of the window seat, taking a split second to carefully set the book back on the podium, respecting Chris's (final? No, God no!) request.

CPHCHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Ah, well then! What did y'al think? I hope you liked! I know my last chapter had a mean cliffie, but please, leave a review! There are only FOUR CHAPTERS LEFT!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	18. Chapter 18

Hello all! Glad to see you've still stuck with this story! Here's the plan; I want to get this story finished by September 8th, the 2-year anniversary of the first chapter of Destined to Die? This is the first of the last FOUR chapters! So please, enjoy!

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Wyatt had flown down the first flight of stairs and was well down the second before he remembered that oh-so-minor little detail; he could orb.

He could almost hear Chris's mocking laugh echoing through the stairway as he surrendered his body into the millions of tiny, bright lights mid-stride. Was insanity one of the 7 stages of mourning?

He re-coporealized behind the shrubbery beside the hospitals front entrance and continued his sprint, as though his feet had never missed a step. He knew the secretary at the front desk was yelling at him, that he'd nearly run into two interns, but he didn't care. They weren't important at the moment…

He didn't even bother with the elevator. He hit the door to the stairs at full force and nearly tripped over the raised threshold. His momentum, having run down the entire corridor, propelled him up 3 stairs at a time, the rubber on the bottom of his sneakers barely meeting the tiled steps.

He ran into a group of nurses as he charged through the next door, some of whom he thought he recognized, but he was barreling so fast, with his curls swishing into his face as he turned the corner that he couldn't be quite sure.

Chris's room had been on the first floor, but his doctor's office had been on the third; he had sensed for his parents as soon as his body had reformed outside the sliding glass doors.

Wyatt didn't even bother to knock; why should he? He has more important issues right now that manners and courtesy.

His Mom, Dad and aunts were all seated in his office, though Dr. Ollrich himself was nowhere to be found.

"Wyatt? Where have you been?" Paige asked, taking in his flushed, red cheeks, wild hair and the fact that he was doubled over panting. He may be an athlete, but he did not do stairs well.

"I-I've been…been at h-home…" he wheezed, the days of not sleeping, barely eating and the knowledge of what he saw appear before him in the Book of Shadows catching up with him.

"Sweetie, why were you at home?" Piper asked, trying to keep her voice calm, though Wyatt could read her face like a book. Her eyes were red and swollen, he cheeks tear-stained, but there was a bit of relief across her expression, and Wyatt knew she had been worried about his sudden (and somewhat dramatic) exit. And this, of course, did nothing for Wyatt's guilt complex. What a fucking lovely son he was being, he thought to himself. His mother had just …had just lost…and then he goes on a rampage and disappears in the blink of an eye?

But he'd deal with that later.

He was finally able to draw air into his burning lungs, which seemed to be retaliating to this whole damn situation.

"Mom, Dad, you gotta listen to me," he began, trying to re-arrange his thoughts, trying to organize all the new information he had. "It's Chris, Mom! He's not gone!"

Wyatt, in all of his excitement, all of his whirl-wind thoughts, had not rehearsed his wording well, and he knew he'd slipped up as soon as the words left his mouth.

His aunts, and his parents (whim, it looked like, where filling out a small stack of forms when he'd barged in) all looked at him with variants of the same expression; confusion, grief, pain and pity. His mother looked like she was going to start crying again.

"Wyatt," he heard his father say, his voice strained and tense behind the gentle mask it wore, "What are you talking about?"

Wyatt scrubbed his blue eyes with the heels of his hands, then brought them up to brush through his hair, still damp and dark from sweat. "It's Chris!" he reiterated, as though he could convey all that those words meant to him through repetition. "He isn't gone, Dad! He's…he's still here! No!" he cut off his Aunt Phoebe, not wanting to hear the pity in her voice for a man who was going mad over the loss of his baby brother. "He's STILL HERE! I…I felt it! In his room, I could feel something…"

"Wyatt," came Paige's strained voice, almost pleadingly.

"…Something familiar, but I couldn't place it!" he was on a roll now, his muddled thoughts all jumbling together, tumbling out of his mouth, echoing his disordered thought process. "And then I orbed home, that was after you came in the room, Dad, and I went upstairs-"

"Wyatt!" It was Leo this time, his tone sharp, not through anger, but through fear…

"And went to the book and he was writing in it, Dad! Chris was speaking to me through the book!"

His breath as haggard as it had just been, Wyatt looked around the room, studying the faces of his family, from Paige looking down, chewing on her thumbnail, to Piper who has dissolved once more into wracking sobs, her dark hair, usually well-kept and glossy, hanging limply around her shoulders, sticking to her face.

This wasn't the reaction he had hoped for.

But then again, what was he to expect? He'd just announced to his mourning family that he'd received a message written in phantom ink from his dead brother in a magic book. If he was anyone other than Wyatt Halliwell, twice-blessed witch, then Hell, he'd have given himself the same look that his father was giving him…

And that look was breaking his heart…

Looking into his fathers eyes tore at Wyatt more than seeing his mother fall apart. Leo…Leo had given Chris his eyes, the bright jade, flecked with ice blue when he was upset. It was Chris's eyes locking into his, but his fathers face, looking at him sadly, worriedly, almost…almost sympathetically…

Wyatt was so locked on his brothers- No! No, his FATHERS eyes that he startled when he felt his hand rest gently on his shoulder, squeezing softly.

"Wyatt, why don't you come sit down," he coaxed, his tone quiet, loving, yet laced with brush of concern…and Wyatt wasn't stupid.

"Dad, I'm not cracking up!" he insisted, shaking Leo's hand off his shoulder. His fathers touch was supposed to be reassuring in a time like this, but it did nothing but increase his anxiety level, which was already just this side of Prozac.

"I'm not insane, I swear!" he continued on, looking from one set of chocolate-brown eyes to the next, trying to avoided the precious-stone colored orbs directly before him. "I went home, up to the attic, and started flipping through the book," he recanted, the rehashing of his mind starting anew. "And there, on a blank page, this writing appeared! It was Chris's writing, HIS handwriting! I'd know it anywhere! He said…he said…" he paused, trying to remember word-for-word what the Chris The Ghost Writer had spelled out. "He told me...he told me to treat the book with more respect, actually," he allowed himself a small smile at the fact that his baby brother could be a smart-ass from the other side of the veil. "And he left a date; November 19, 2004. The day before he was born. He wants-"

"Wyatt, will you please shut the hell up!"

Piper Halliwell's voice filled the room like a cascade of Arctic water, shocking all the occupants to the core and seeming to slip into every crack, every crevice, every nook, every space. Piper seldom raised her voice, and even more rarely did she raise her voice at her sons…

Wyatt hadn't been afraid of his mother since age 13 when he outgrew her by a foot. But as she sat there in the cheaply upholstered office chair, her eyes blood-shot, her face blotched, looking more like the things they hunted than his own mother, and with her voice having been raised with such ferocity, Wyatt was terrified.

"How dare you disappear like you did?" Piper voice shook, both from her flood of emotions and from the strain her throat had had, after so many hours of crying. "How can you just disappear, when we needed you, when this family needed each other, and come back claiming that Chris, who I just watched DIE IN FRONT OF MY OWN EYES, spoke to you?"

Wyatt shook his head, trying to explain himself. "Mom, I'm not-"

"Wyatt Mathew Halliwell, do you have any idea what kind of Hell we are going through right now?" Piper shrieked, her tone harsh enough to rival a banshee. "I just lost my son, Wyatt, for the second time! You're brother just died! Don't you give a damn about that?! Are you that selfish?!"

Nobody in the room even dared to breath. Paige's already pale skin had gone the color of sour milk, and Phoebe has to sit down, right on the floor where she had stood, her hands covering her mouth. Only Piper seemed not to have realized how many lines she had just crossed.

And still, Wyatt's demeanor did not change.

He'd lost his brother to a sickness people didn't die from anymore.

It was his fault.

He'd been given one last chance to make this right.

And his family thought he was loosing his mind in mourning.

A scolding from his mother wasn't going to hurt him any.

Wyatt clenched his jaw, his frazzled hair falling into his narrowed eyes, but he didn't bother to brush it aside. He looked down at his mother, and he shook his head softly, slowly.

"In case you've forgotten, mother, I'm not who I use to be," he growled. "I'm not the man Chris once knew, who enjoyed watching people I once loved die right in front of me. Chris is my little brother, God damnit! I was the one who took care of him when he was little, when all of you were too busy to notice he as hungry, he was crying, that he was even THERE! How can you think I'm not suffering too? Twice! He dies twice because of me! And I don't know about you, Piper, but I'm not letting it end the same way it did last time. Chris isn't gone, and I'm going to figure out a way to save him, with your help or without it "

Not even bothering to wait for his family to come out of shock and speak, Wyatt whirled around on his heel, grabbing the cold, stainless steel handle in his sweating palm and slammed the door behind him hard enough to knock the "I" off the word Ollrich.

He'd ran to the room in desperation; he know walked slowly down the corridor, the cold, white, sterile environment around him not reaching the boiling, fiery anger bubbling deep in his chest.

How could his mother say that top him? Accuse him of such things, when not a day ago she was reassuring him that none of this was his fault? He knew she was hurting but god damn it, so was he!

Though Piper and Leo had explained to the boys what had happened, they'd conveniently left some important details out. That Wyatt wasn't just 'evil', but the fucking Source. That he'd killed his own mother, his aunts, slaughtered his cousins, and, though unintentionally, caused the death of the one person his past self had ever truly loved; Chris.

He was 17 when he and Chris decided to work their own little spell, see what happened all those years ago. He felt that, on some level, Chris already knew. But to him…it cut him apart inside. Shredded him, burned deeper than Darklighter poison. And Chris…his little brother, who as only 15, who should be the one being protected, had spent hours comforting, scolding, teasing, berating, annoying and loving Wyatt until he finally convinced him that it wasn't Wyatt's fault, that he himself hadn't exactly been a saint in his past life either.

But despite his reassurance, Wyatt still carried a seed of guilt within him, which grew alongside his fierce desire to protect his baby brother. It branched and vined and snaked it's way through all of him, sometimes shriveling up and nearly dying when Chris was well and happy, but resprouting with renewed life every so often.

And then seeing Chris so ill, and knowing that he could have prevented it…

Wyatt shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the tears, and picked up his pace, his stride becoming rapid, his long legs carrying him farther and farther away from his family…or what was left of it…

His eyes still fiercely closed, his gait nearly a run, it took the wind out of him when he ran headlong into something warm and solid, sending him crashing to the ground in a clumsy heap.

"Are you alright, son?" came the deep, timbred voice.

Sighing gustily, Wyatt rubbed the spot on the back of his head that had just become well acquainted with the concrete floor. Wincing, he opened his eyes to see whom he'd run into.

It was an older man, black, with graying hair, wearing a custodial uniform and pushing along a paper-recycling bin, which had been sent over, on one side, spilling scarps of paper all over the hallway. . Wyatt was surprised he was the one who ended up ass-over-applecart and not the guy he'd run into. He had a good 30 pounds on him.

"Erm, yeah…I'm fine. Sorry…" he mumbled, still trying to remember which way was up. When the man offered his hand to help, Wyatt gratefully (though a little doubtfully, considering the mans age) accepted.

Once he was back on his feet, he took one glance at the mess of scattered papers all over and stooped to help the man.

"God, sir, I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going-"

"Don't you worry bout it, boy!" the man laughed, his chuckle low and rumbly with a bit of a drawl to it. He threw an armful of paper into the up righted bin. "Wherever you were off to, must be real 'portant to be going as fast as you was!"

Wyatt tossed a crumbled wad of empty enveloped into the plastic tub. "Um, yeah…I, uh…"

"You don't really have to stay and help," said the dark-skinned man after a minute. "You must have somewhere you really need to get to-"

"No! Really! It's ok," Wyatt insisted earnestly. "I should have been watching where I was going. It's the least I can do."

He crouched again, sweeping up whatever papers he could reach. Behind him, he could hear the man doing the same.

"That sure is awful nice of you, son," he said softly, and Wyatt could hear the smile in his voice. "Not many folk nowadays would stop and help and ol' man like me…" and there was a pause, as Wyatt folded up the last pile of papers, before the man added, "But then again, you and your brother have always been a little different, haven't you?"

Wyatt froze, nearly dropping the scraps. "M-My brother? How do you know about…?"

But when he turned back around to confront the man, he was gone. And so were his bin, and the mess of papers that had still been fluttering around on his side.

"What the…" Wyatt mumbled, looking each way down the completely empty corridor.

He shivered involuntarily, pulling his jacket closer around him with his free hand. What the hell had just happened? How did…how did that man know that he had a brother? And where the hell did he go?!

A headache beginning to throb between his eyes, Wyatt groaned in frustration at the whole damned situation and looked down grumpily at the stack of paper she still held, trying to find a place to dump them, when something caught his eye…

He knew for a fact that just seconds ago, when he turned around, the hallway had been spotless, devoid of even a dust mite…but several feet beside him, lying discarded against the blue trim on the floor, was a large sheet of what appeared to be parchment…

The pounding growing steadily stronger, yet easier to ignore, Wyatt stooped down and picked up the paper.

It was, indeed, parchment, and very old parchment, a lot like what the Book of Shadows was made of, which was more than a little strange; Wyatt knew he hadn't picked up anything else that even LOOKED like parchment, and he knew he'd picked up every last scrap.

His heart drumming in his throat, he unfolded the paper once, afraid it would drop to buts with age. One side was blank, but he recognized the other side immediately. The faded scrollwork, the block ink letters, the one torn edge…this was identical to the oldest of the Books entries…

He had to squint to make out the now-gray letters, written in fancy scrawl, but knew within a few words that it was some sort of spell.

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme, heed the hope within my mind; Send me back to where I'll find, what I wish in place in time…" he read in a whisper to himself, then read it over again, again, and one last time before the meaning of these words sunk in.

It was a spell…a time-travel spell…but there were no spells to travel through time in the Book…not anymore, at least. His mother and aunts had used one decades ago, but it could only be used once before it disappeared. And Chr-

Realization hit him like a bolt of thunder, and he was running out of the hospital faster than he'd run in; too fast, even, to notice the old man with the trash bin watching him tear down the hallway…

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The attic of the Halliwell manor had always been the center of the household. It was well away from prying eyes, a perfect place for them to use their magic without fear of being caught. And it had everything they needed; their potions ingredients, crystals, maps, knives and, of course, the Book. A thousand years of family history and knowledge. Chris and Wyatt's cousins, though still young, had shown little interest in their heritage, and as their parents has mostly moved on, Chris and Wyatt were now the only ones who used the attic often, and it had been reordered to suite them. Ingredients were rearranged in a different way, athames and spells were re-categorized. And as a result, Wyatt felt more at home in the stuffy, warm attic than anywhere else in the house, or in the apartment he rented.

It would have taken an hour or more to clear all the junk away from the East wall, but a hasty spell had it done in seconds.

The triqutra he'd drawn upon the wall was shaky, lopsided, and pretty crappy. But it was recognizable as what it was; the millennia-old symbol of what he was born as.

And the doorway back to his brother.

Wiping pale blue chalk dust onto his rumpled jeans, he picked the spell off the table where he'd been referring to it. His hands were shaking like crazy (which would explain the 5-year-old look the triquetra had to it) and his headache was steadily increasing through anxiety. Would this really work? Could he…could he fix this?

"Only one way to find out…"

Swallowing thickly, he began to recite the words off the ancient parchment.

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme, hee-"

"Wyatt?"

Wyatt's words fell silent in his throat when he heard his mother's voice. Turning around, he saw her standing in the doorway of the attic, hesitantly, as though waiting to be invited into her own home.

"What are you doing here?" Wyatt's words were harsher than he meant them to be, but the sting of Piper's accusations were still fresh.

Arms folded guardedly in front of her chest, Piper took a few cautious steps into the attic, the floorboard creaking beneath her feet. She looked around at Wyatt, at the paper in his hand, and at the clumsily-etched symbol on the wood panels…

"Wyatt…what are you doing?" she asked, her mind lashing back 20-odd years, to an apartment in the city, to a young women dressed in leather…"Where did you get that?"

Wyatt glanced down dismissively at the paper he held in his hands, and shook his head. "That's not important," he muttered. "What IS important is me being able to do what I'm suppose to do before it's too late! 

"And what is it you're suppose to do?" Pipers voice held none of the bite and hatred it did just an hour ago, and Wyatt felt his icy demeanor melting.

"Honestly? I don't know for sure. But, Mom, you have to believe me! Chris is still here, he's-"

But Piper cut him off, holding her hand up and laying her hand gently on Wyatt's shoulder. "Wyatt, I believe you," she said softly.

"Come again?" After the violent, outraged reaction he had received earlier, Wyatt was reluctant to believe his own ears.

Piper swallowed the lump forming in her throat, wringing her hands. "Wyatt…I believe you. You aren't the kind to make things up, imagine things. If…" she took a deep breath, as though her own words were painful to her. "If you really feel as though something isn't right here, than…then I believe you."

Wyatt was still for a long moment, mulling this over in his mind. Piper wasn't one to admit she was wrong, that someone else, especially her own children, might know better than her.

He knew how much it took for to admit she was human.

And he didn't know what to say.

"So…so where did you get that?" she asked again, and Wyatt gave her the Cliff's Notes version of his encounter in the hospital.

Piper seemed as puzzled as he was, but was able to provide a little more information.

"Wyatt, this…Chris used this spell," she said, her voice catching as she said her sons name.

"Yeah, I know," Wyatt replied. He wasn't sure how he knew, but something made him absolutely positive that Chris had held this spell in his own hands…

He was broke out of his thoughts by Piper slipping her small hand into his.

"It'll take us back in time, you know." She said, as though that weren't obvious in the way the spell was written.

"Wait, what do you mean 'us?" Wyatt did a double take. "Mom, I don't think you should-"

"Shut up, Wyatt," Piper took her Mom voice with him, but softened it with a weak smile. "I may be old, but I think I still have a few tricks up my sleeve!"

Wyatt returned her smile, a bit awkward with the sudden reinstation of her motherly dominance.

But there were times when even grown men appreciated a little help from their mother.

Wyatt held the spell between them, and awkwardly working through the miniscule print, the began to recite;

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme, heed the hope within my mind; Send me back to where I'll find, what I wish in place in time"

The wind began to pick up as the last words died away, and the lopsided drawing on the wall began to shimmer in front of them like heat waves. The space within the lines started to glow faintly, first white, then blue, then midnight purple, shimmering and waving like the water in the Bay.

Their faces wind-red, their hair blown into tangles, Piper and Wyatt looked once at each other, and threw their fears, anxieties, doubts and worries to Hell and dove through the portal to God-Knows-Where…

Or, more appropriately, When.

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Wow! That chapter turned out so much differently then when I first planned it out but for the better, I think!

Where is the portal taking Piper and Wyatt?

How will they save Chris?

When will LLC next update?

NOBODY KNOOOOOWS!

Well, I know the answer to the first two, but you guys will just have to stick around and find out!

Oh, and please review!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	19. Chapter 19

Hey everybody! LLC here! Yeah, I know what you're all thinking; what nerve you have, leaving us for so long!

My sincerest apologies, dear readers! With my senior year starting, I've been swamped with art shows and scholarship applications (all for art, of course) and my portrait work is finally starting to really sell!

BUT with Scholastics Art coming up, I knew I needed to get a new chapter up for you before I completely lost it!

A/N Since the events leading up to the scene featured in this chapter changed, so did the scene in question, meaning it is not taken directly from the episode.

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Never having time traveled before, Wyatt wasn't sure what to expect. A swirling, brightly-colored wormhole? A large and majestic clock face, its delicate and intricate hands spinning backwards past a dial of roman numerals? Was he expecting to see the events of the past 20-odd years flash before him in rapid succession? Or perhaps the sun and moon would follow one another in a confused sky, the moon chasing the sun West to East…

But it was nothing as flashy and breathtaking as that.

In fact, if he wasn't fully aware that he was zooming back in time, Wyatt would have simply thought he had missed a step while walking down the stairs. As he stepped through the glowing family symbol drawn sloppily on the wall, he felt his stomach lurch, coming to rest somewhere near his heart. And for a moment he thought he might even be ill, so strong was the sudden feeling of weightlessness and vertigo.

There was nothing to see. No sounds reverberated through his ears. Everything around him was almost a void, an empty gravity-defying room that only held the IDEAS of the senses, the remnants of a hundred millennia of time and history. The silent echo of gunfire. The unperceivable aroma of sea water. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost feel the winds of a devastating twister ready to lift him away from this nothing…

And suddenly, it almost felt like it had, and deposited him rather rudely.

"Oof!" he gasped as he landed hard on his back on a solid surface, all the wind knocked out of him. Pain shot through his spine and through his ribs, and he hoped dearly they were only bruised and not broken.

He kept his eyes squeezed closed, waiting for his internal organs to catch up from 2027.

"Ow…"

"Mom?" Wyatt called out, though in barely more than a whisper. Who knew who was around? "You ok?"

A gusty sigh followed a low groan from somewhere to his left. "Um, hello? Did you not just hear my 'ow?'"

Piper and Wyatt slowly dragged themselves into sitting positions, nursing heir various scrapes and bruises. As Wyatt gentled a growing lump on the back of his head, he looked around where they had landed and instantly recognized it as the family attic, with several differences. Sure, it was still a cluttered jumble of junk and antiques, but it wasn't he same junk Wyatt was accustomed to seeing. There was a wrought-iron bed frame against one wall that he himself had dragged out just last spring. The rug on the floor was threadbare and worn paper-thin, and had been replaced when Wyatt was young. Shelves were completely re-arranged, trunks and boxes were marked with unrecognized titles. And the Book! It was so thin! Couldn't have been more than 3, 4 hundred pages.

"Hey…Mom?" Wyatt quipped. "When are we?"

"Now that's something you don't hear everyday," he replied dryly, pushing her gray-streaked hair back over her shoulders. Huffing to herself, she looked around, although she already knew the answer.

"I…I think it's 2003…" she replied softly.

"2003," he repeated softly, the implications of the year slowly settling in. 2003. The year his brother was born. And the year he died…

As if on cue, there was a sudden crashing from across the attic. Looking up startled, they whipped their heads up fast enough to both receive whiplash and to see a blurred form land harshly against what was now a pile of debris. Now, in the Halliwell Manor, this was not an uncommon occurrence. However, neither Piper nor Wyatt were quite able to figure out what was going on, as the attic had been completely empty only moments ago.

The figures before them apparently hadn't gotten that notice though. From behind a cracked and aged wardrobe, the time-traveling two could easily see 3 others in the attic with them; a balding forty-something Wyatt didn't know in black, swirling robes, a fair-haired baby boy who could only be the Wyatt himself, and…

"Chris."

Piper breathed the single syllable in a barely audible breath, he word parting from her lips in such a tender and melancholy tone…

And it was indeed the younger of the Halliwell brothers, looking almost exactly as Wyatt remembered, minus fashion sense and plus a really bad pudding-bowl haircut, but unmistakably his little brother.

A sudden flood of emotions threatened to drown Wyatt just then, seeing Chris stand before him. The ever-resent guilt, mourning, rapture at seeing him up and breathing…yet one terrible image kept flashing through his mind; Wyatt hadn't looked at him for more then five seconds when another image superimposed itself over Chris's lively, flushed features; one of an entirely different Chris, one marble cold and deathly pale, his lips tinged the most delicate shade of blue the undertone of this skin tinted to match.

Feeling his heart seizing up in his chest, Wyatt clenched his eyes shut painfully hard, willing the image from his mind. He couldn't' concentrate on saving Chris's life if all he could see was his death.

"Don't make me sacrifice you both."

The voice that cut through the stagnant air in the attic was cold and cruel, a black heart behind it, and it made Wyatt's blood boil and his heart freeze.

That man…he was…Good God…

Wyatt was immediately overcome with the urge to come running from his hiding place, to stop what he knew was about to happen…

But he couldn't move. He used all his weight to thrust himself forward, taut muscles straining, but he was unable to move from his hidden crouch.

"What the…?" he swore under his breath, looking down at his immobile legs just long enough to hear his mother's muffled scream, drown out by a louder, more anguished one…

The sound of his little brother's screams resonated through his ears, burning the sound into his memory like etching lines into an old vinyl record. Everything seemed to move in slow motion before him, and it took his seemingly days to process the scene; Gideon, that God dammed pitiful excuse for an Elder, had Chris around the shoulders, his right hand clutched around a steel athame, twisting it sadistically into Chris's stomach. Blood began to dribble from the puncture, staining his yellow shirt with macabre rivers mapping down his front. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth grit. He couldn't seem to catch his breath, and when he did, all he could emit was a single, strangled cry.

"D-dad!" he gasped, before Gideon wrenched the knife from his abdomen ad he fell onto the floor. His face as white as linen, he curled in on himself, dark hair clinging damply to his forehead as he grasped at his wound.

Every fiber of being in Wyatt's body screamed at him to move, to quit standing there, that Chris was hurt, he was in pain, that he needed help, but it was about as useful as trying to get through a brick wall. It wasn't just the effects of panic; no, he was physically unable to move at all.

One look at his mother told him she was having similar problems, and she was not handling it well at all. Tears streamed down her face, her brown eyes red and glistening.

"Chris…" Wyatt could hear her murmur. "Oh my God Chris…"

Wyatt wanted to reach out and comfort her with almost the same ferocity that he wasted to reach Chris. He couldn't hold her like he would have wished, but he could promise her it would be alright…because it had to be…

But before he could even open his mouth to speak, the attic was suddenly filled with thousand of tiny blue lights swirling together in an ambience of sparkles and the sound of bells. Quickly, the orbs reformed back into the haggard form of his father, who all but dropped to the floor beside his son.

"Chris?" he gasped, his face becoming nearly as pale as the young man before him.

Chris swallowed thickly, trying to summon the strength to speak. "Wyatt," he whispered. "W-wyatt…"

That was when Leo noticed the form standing just feet way, his demeanor calm. Wyatt could hear him mutter something about the greater good, but he was too filled with rage to hear.

As the Elder orbed out in a shower of lavender spheres, it was like a spell had been broken. Suddenly Wyatt, who had been straining at his magical, invisible bonds, shot forward, clunking awkwardly on overbalanced feet as he raced over to Chris. And if the look on Leo's face wasn't shock personified, he didn't know what was.

"W...W…Wyatt?" he breathed apprehensively, so focused on the image of his son that he took a moment to notice his wife beside him (plus about 23 years, of course)

"Piper!" Leo gape, feeling his head splitting a hundred different directions. "I..but you're in…what the feck is going on here?"

Wyatt and Piper took approximately half a second to exchange glances before they each shook their heads.

"SO not enough time to explain now," he insisted, reaching down to run his hand tenderly over Chris's shoulder, gnawing the inside of his cheek to see him suffering as he was.

"Mmh…Ddad?" he ground out, his eyes still clenched tightly shut.

Wyatt hesitated before answering; after all, this Chris still thought Wyatt was a crazed, power-hungry evil overlord.

"No, Chris. It's not," was all he dared to say, scared of stressing Chris out right now. "Dad, take him downstairs, ok?" he continued. "And I promise, we'll explain everything soon."

Leo peered skeptically at him for a brief moment, His jade colored eyes narrowing. Wyatt…after all that Chris had told him about his brother, and after what had just happened back at the hospital…could he really trust him? Was he really Wyatt at all? Maybe…

"Ok, you know what?" Piper suddenly spoke up from where she knelt at Chris side. "You can pursue that little bit of paranoia later, m'kay? Cause right now, we have more pressing priorities that playing along with your neurosis."

Leo clenched his jaw, but nodded. Using hands much gentler than his temper, he rolled Chris onto his back to lift him into his arms. As his muscles pulled and stretched, Chris sharply drew in his breath, hissing between grit teeth.

Piper couldn't discern what Leo was whispering to Chris; he kept his voice barely above a murmur, but she knew already.

As her husband and youngest son disappeared into a dusting of light, Piper remained knelt on the well-worn rug, pressing her hands over her mouth.

Wyatt didn't need to be an empathy to feel the anxiety washing in tidal waves from his mother. If this was hard on him, and Gods knew he felt like someone was taking a razor blade to his insides, he couldn't bare to imagine what this must be like for Piper. She's been through this none twice now, but three times; loosing her son.

"Mom," he said gently, kneeling on one knee beside her. "Mom, come on, it isn't going to happen this time…"

Piper sniffed, squeezed her eyes closed for a beat, then shook her head and quickly leapt to her feet.

"I…I know," she assured him. "I know he'll be ok this time. I…" her voice just couldn't quite quit trembling. "I mean, we know who it was this time around. We have the advantage, we have the extra time. Surely…"

And she trailed off, her voice tapering off waveringly. Wyatt sighed, knowing what she was thinking. Yes, they had the advantage, the extra time, but…that meant nothing. They could get Gideon's arse back into the manor five seconds from now and it still might all be n vane. Fate was a witch. They lost Chris to illness. They traveled back 23 years. They knew what had to be done, and yet…

They might still fail.

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Although Dad had laid him down as gently as he could, Chris still felt as though he was being ripped apart as his back touched the mattress. His instincts told him to curl in on himself, to ease the pain, but every slight movement caused pain to flair though his middle, shooting from the gouge below his chest and radiating to the very tips of his fingers. Even breathing was excruciating.

Through his closed eyes, Chris noticed a bright light forming before him, growing steadily brighter; healing light. Oh, if he had been feeling any better, he could have laughed out loud at the irony of it all. Here he was, his life slipping farther and farther away with every heart beat, yet the bright light at the end of the tunnel was intended to keep him in this life, not help him cross into the next. What an analogy!

"It's n-no use Dad," he insisted, each syllable taking more effort than his body was willing to provide. "He..he did something. I c-can ffeel it…"

Leo was reluctant to pull his hands away, although he knew what Chris said was true. He could feel it too. He could feel it the moment he held his hands over the wound and attempted to repair the torn flesh; something was blocking his magic, keeping the ripped muscle from knitting back together like it should. Something was preventing the blood from reversing its track, seeping back ito the wound. It was like a magical brick wall, and all he had was a spoon to dig through it with.

But Gideon had the figurative wrecking ball…

Swallowing hard, Chris took several shallow breaths before continuing, "Gideon did this. He's the only one who can stop it."

"Actually, that's not quite true."

Leo swung around at the sound of a familiar voice. When he first say Piper standing in the doorway he had another moment of "what the hell?" before noting the gray speckling her hair and the wrinkles adorning her warm eyes before remembering that he and hris had not been alone in the attic.

"P-Piper," he murmured quietly, as though having to remind himself of the identity of his own wife. The Whitelighter appeared torn for a long moment, half of his wanting to cross the room in one stride and demand answers, demand who the hell she was, what the feck was going on…and yet the other half need only glance over to Chris's prone form and feel completely unable to leave his side.

Speaking of Chris…

The time traveler in question didn't seem to be having any more luck in processing the presence of a woman who was currently in heavy labor, several miles away. For all the world the young man looked as though he'd seen a ghost…which, in a way, he had…

Mom…this was Mom, not Piper. Oh, he may smile when Piper walked into the room, hold her as gently as a glass figure, as though fearing she would break, and yet never want to let go. He even called her Mom, forming the word lovingly on his tongue, the sound as sweet to him as pure sugar, and yet, no matter how hard he tried, she was still Piper.

Mom was wise and sage where Piper was still learning. Mom's hair had long since turned gray from the stress of raising two teenage boys, whereas Piper was still only a other of on toddler. Mom ran a family restaurant chain, not a trendy nightclub…

Mom didn't kick him out of the house…

"Mom…" he breathed, trying to push himself up against the headboard, until another burst shot through him and he cried out and collapsed against the mattress.

Tears welled up beneath tightly closed eyes, his teeth gripping his lip hard enough for blood to seep up. Distantly he heard several voices calling his name, their tones holding bother panic and comfort.

The sound of his own slowing heart filling his ears, he felt a small hand running over his face, fingers tracing over his features delicately. He knew that touch, although it had been almost 10 years since he had felt it.

The pain in his gut dying down to a steady, constant ache, he managed to pry his eyelids apart, his eyes opening to a spinning room ad three blurring faces.

Wait.

Three?

Chris furrowed his brow, a dull headache beginning to form from his vertigo and dizziness. Green eyes blinked rapidly, attempting to focus the people around him, though currently it was about as clear as a camera lens dipped in ink.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his father's pale face and his mother's dark hair helped him to identify his parents, and the tangled mess of dirty blonde hair…that was…it looked so much like…

"Wyatt!"

Suddenly his heart began thrumming faster, his already shallow breathing becoming even quicker. The walls, which had only recently reattached the house's foundations again decided to practice their ballroom dancing, twirling and gliding in a blurred waltz around him. And his mind was spinning right along with them.

He opened his eyes wide, drinking in the features of the young man standing at his bedside, trying to convince himself that he had been mistaken, that it was just a haze of pain and blood loss that had caused this man to look like his homicidal brother…

"Chris? Hey, you alright?"

But that voice was unmistakably Wyatt's Chris would know that voice even if he was suspended upside down underwater. For years, he'd heard few other human voices.

He nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Here, the antisocial clinically insane dictator he'd risked his life to save was standing before him, asking lovingly if he was alright.

'Oh yeah, Wy, I'm fine. I'm bleeding to death and going mad, but other than that, I'm just peachy.'

But he didn't have the strength o attempt such wit. Instead, he looked to the one erson who wasn't causing his hea to reel.

"Dad?" he croaked, turning his head away from the others. "W-what are they doing here? What's g-going on?"

Leo shook his head, squeezing Chris's upper arm gently for support. His eyes briefly flickered up, flitting over the two unexpected visitors. I've been wondering the same myself."

The Piper that Wasn't shared another all-knowing glance with her oldest son before shaking her head. "You know, we just don't have time for a detailed explanation, but Reader's Digest version? We're trying to-" a sharp pinch at her back cut her words off instantly, and she turned to glare at (and scold) Wyatt. However, before she could get a word out. He narrowed his eyes in a "What the heck are you doing??" gesture and jerked his head ever so slightly to Chris, who was listening every bit as intently as his father.

He didn't want Chris to hear the whole explanation…

"Actually, on second thought, why don't you and I talk out here. Wyatt will fill Chris in." she stood, striding quickly across the floor, before turning back around. "Well?" she snapped at Leo. "If you haven't noticed we don't exactly have a lot of time here, so if you'd hurry up please before I blow you to bits?" she nodded approvingly as Leo jumped to match her pace. Nodding approvingly, she rearranged her featured to smile reassuringly at an increasingly irritated Chris.

"We'll be right back, ok Peanut?" she promised, before closing the door securely behind her. That left the two Halliwell brothers alone.

For several moments, the only sound filling the master bedroom was the distant sound of traffic wafting through the windows and Chris's ragged breathing.

Wyatt sat at his left side, placed awkwardly on the too-soft mattress. He watched as Chris stubbornly kept his eyes averted or closed, refusing to meet his brothers own.

Not that Wyatt could blame him, of course. Though he wanted nothing more than to hold Chris close to him, to brush his sweat-damped hair back, to sooth him in whatever way he could, he knew his gestures wouldn't be appreciated. To this Chris, Wyatt wasn't his goofy, spastic, sometimes dim older brother. No, he was the man who took everything from him, the reason he was in so much pain to begin with. But still, he couldn't just sit and do nothing…

"Chris?" he ventured softly, trying not to scare Chris or jostle him.

Chris tensed at Wyatt's voice, and seemed to hold his breath for a beat before replying a terse, clipped, "What is it?"

Wyatt groaned inwardly; he had never been one for words! Chris was the one who could make up spells and enchantments at the spur of a moment, weaving together eloquent syllables and rhythmic beats faster than anything. It was Wyatt who had suffered more than one mortifying class period by mixing up completely safe words with rather embarrassing ones.

"Chris, I'm…I'm not who you think I am," he started awkwardly, stumbling over every little twist of his mouth, which felt as though he'd just stuffed it full of gauze. Chris stred at his evenly, remaining perfectly still except for the jerking rise and fall of his ow blood-stained chest, and he had more than a glimmer of skepticism in his pained eyes.

Trying to remain undaunted, Wyatt struggled to reorganize his words behind a mask of unshaken confidence, for Chris…"I'm not the Wyatt from your future."

Chris held his gaze, brow furrowed as he studied his brothers face, almost as though reading his very soul, running fingers over carefully etched words engraved around his heart. "Right," he wheezed. "And why should I believe you?"

"I'm here with Mom, aren't I?" he replied. "And she's older than you ever can remember, isn't she?"

The younger of the two witches stiffened noticeably, before glaring at his brother, as though he wanted nothing more than to give him a wound to match his own.

"What the helll kind of nerve do you have, huh?" he snapped, seeming to use more strength than he had to spare. "What are you trying to do? Get into my head again?"

Wyatt blanched, jaw gaping open in shock and incomprehension. "Chris, w-what are you talking about?" he asked, trying to keep his tone calm, quiet. "I'm not trying to do anything but get you to trust me-"

"After all you did, Wyatt, you want me to trust you?" Chris was getting himself worked up, grimacing as he pushed himself up on one elbow, to better fix his gaze directly into Wyatt's. "After all the people you killed! After all you took form me? You're a-" but Wyatt didn't find out what it was he was suppose to be, because Chris dissolved into a fit of wracking coughs. He doubled up on himself as much as he could in his position, his chest struggling to draw in air through the convulsions. Tears sprung to his eyes as he clutched at his chest, which hurt so bad, nearly more so that the stab wound in his stomach.

"Chris!" Wyatt gasped, flinging himself across the bed and wrapping his strong arms around his baby brother. Not noticing Chris's weight (not that he was heavy; good god, did he even eat in this timeline?!) he held Chris under his arms, holding him upright and settling his head on his own shoulder. He could feel each spasm go through Chris, and his breathing sounded like grating gravel crunching under tires. God, it reminded him so much of Chris when he first got sick…was it really only a few days ago?

No really having much clue what to do, Wyatt just went with whatever felt right. He kept Chris's back straight, to make it easier to breath. He didn't even notice the blood staining the front of his own shirt. Couldn't care less.

Soon, Chris's breathing began to even out, and he took shuddering, gasping lungfuls of air. He felt tired so tired, as though he was swimming in the middle of an ocean with no land in site. He slumped against Wyatt (and against his better judgment) and just lay as sill as possible. He hurt. Hi wound felt inflamed, and if it wasn't for the fact that the room was already darkening from blood loss, he would have been worried about infection. He'd had a nasty one in his future, courtesy of a certain blonde-haired maniac and it had nearly cost him his life. But then…it was the same man who had dragged his feverish as back to his stronghold and refused to let him out of his site until he was well again. He'd stayed by his side at every moment, even if Chris wasn't even aware of him half he time. And yet…although most of those few days were lost in a haze, he was sure of one thing; his Wyatt had never apologized, never said he was sorry for what he did…

But this Wyatt…

"Chris…Chris, I'm sorry," he whispered, just loud enough for Chris to hear over the sound of his weakened heart beating in his ear. "This is all my fault…all three dammed times!" Was his voice breaking? "But it won't happen like it did this time, I swear it." What in the name of God was he blabbering about? Was he hallucinating again? "I mean, third times a char, right?"

Chris said nothing as his slow brain processed Wyatt's ranting. Watt…his brother…after he turned 16, Wyatt never said he was sorry about anything…not once…and certainly never for anything he did for Chris…

Trying to avoid the welcoming pull of sleep, Chris nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yeah" he murmured. "third time…"

CPHCPHCPOHCPHCPHCPH

Well! I did not intend to leave that there! But if I'd have continued, this chapter would be 20 pages long! This just means y'all get another chapter later!

My BIGGEST thanks to all my readers! I love you, and you, and you…

Thank you Jessie for whipping me out of my anime rut (even if only for the time being.) I have a poll on my profile; please take it! The winner WILL be my next update so choose carefully!

NEXT CHAPTER- Piper and Leo's POV, brotherly fluff and a certain elder and, if you'd like, an appearance from everyone favorite demon of fear!

Oh, and be sure to check out Proud To Be Insane's new slash board!

http :// proudtobeinsane .proboards67 .com

Lottsa love,

LLC


	20. Chapter 20

Hello again all! For once, I didn't not leave everyone for an ungodly amount of time before updating again! And this time, you have two people to thank!

Jessie, of course, for keeping me (in)sane, but mostly, to bestest friend, Bre-Chan, who told me I was not allowed to write any more of my Clow/Yue story until I COMPLETELY finished D2D! So Sedn her some virtual love!

CHRIS: It's about time you get your mind back to America!

WYATT: Yeah! How dare you leave us hanging like that? The nerve!

LLC: Dudes, I'm sorry! You know how I get when I focus on something yummy!

YUE (smug as hell): I'M not complaining.

WYATT (Brandishing Excalibur): You better watch yourself, pretty boy, or I swear, I'll-

LLC: For the love of God, people! It was hard enough cleaning the blood off my keyboard the last time you went at it!

YUE: Keyboard? You think that's hard? Do you have any idea how easily blood stains white hair? 9 washings, it took! NINE! I swear, I-

LLC: ANYway, while I'm buy trying to keep my beautiful characters from committing atrocious acts of violence and scaring the poor childrens, why don't you all sit back and enjoy this new Chapter of Destined to Die?

CRASH! BANG! BOOM! Ow, My EYE!

Ouch. Yeah..uh, swear words are deliberately mistyped because I'm working on my school monitored laptop.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

"Wait, so you're trying to tell me you're from some OTHER alternate future where Chris was killed, reborn, only to end up dying again on the same day?" Leo rehashed, already having to resist orbing down to the drugstore for a value bottle of Ibuprofen.

With a nonchalant shrug, Piper sighed "Well, that's the Reader's Digest version! I don't have time to give you a Masterpiece Theatre epic here!"

"And you're telling me that they Wyatt in there is not the cold-hearted murdering man Chris is so afraid of?"

"You don't hear it screaming in unholy terror, do ya?" his wife shot back, wanting so very badly to grab her loving husband by the shoulders and give him a good ol' shake.

Leo made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose in pain. "And, you're also telling me that not only did my mentor betray me b stabbing my son, but Barbas, our good old pal Barbas, is in cahoots with him?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it!" Chipped the witch, using her 'happy business woman who really wants to rip your throat out' smile. "And I'm also telling you that is you don't get your angelic arse down to the underworld, PRONTO, sense for Barbas and drag that pathetic, sniveling excuse for an Elder back up here, your son is going to die in your arms and we'll be rigt back where we started from!"

He might as well have had ice water hurled at him in the middle of August, he was so quick to snap out of his skepticism. Even if he didn't trust this woman 100 percent, ad even if he was still leery of the story she told him, that fact that Chris was critically injured was inarguable.

"Alright, fine," he finally conceded, already trying to form Barbas's magical fingerprint into his senses. "Barbas's aura is about as inconspicuous as the Golden Gate Bridge. It shouldn't tae long-"

"It CAN'T take long," Piper reminded him, her tone soft and devoid of her usual bite. "Chris needed Gideon to be here yesterday."

And Leo knew it. He nodded slightly, stiffly, his jaw set and orbed out, the ethereal shower of otherworldly white lights clashing with the somber darkness that had settled into the hallway.

"Like a lighthouse beacon in a storm," Piper murmured to herself, staring absently into the space where her husband had been standing, and hoped that the figurative light from the tower would be enough to save their already broken and sinking ship.

CPHCPHCPHCPHPHCPHCPH

The realization that the blonde man sitting at his side was not going to murder him did not change the fact that Chris was already dying, which just went to prove that irony was a Bi. The assurance that the future was at least semi saved did not change the fact that dying? Really, really hurt.

It didn't make the blood stop flowing.

It didn't stop his fever from rising.

It didn't mend his flesh, repair his muscle or ease his dry, gasping breaths.

But it sure made the idea of dying a lot easier to accept.

Not that Chris wanted to die. He had never been that far gone. Even when his mother had died, when his father had left him, when the only person in the world who would take him into their arms to love and treasure and care for was the one person who had torn his world apart, he hadn't prayed for death. He begged for salvation, absolution and one more day to lick his wounds, but he'd never embraced the morbid and black unknown that was the afterlife.

However, seeing Wyatt, not his Wyatt, but the sort of older, sane brother that he'd always wished he'd had, and seeing his mother as gray-haired as she should be, filled him with n inexplicable peace, a sort of calmness that overshadowed the sharp, all-consuming pain of his wound.

Wyatt, however, didn't know this. To him, the heavy lidded eyes and vague, calm smile were the effects of fever and blood loss. Not knowing what else to do, he eased himself gently off the bed, into his mother bathroom and moistened a soft, clean washcloth with cool water, folding it over as he walked.

The tepid water felt wonderful against Chris's flushed skin, and he allowed himself to close his eyes. He'd been reluctant to do so, afraid that deciding to rest his eyes for even a moment would be too inviting, and he would drift, begin to drift, like a tiny boat left untied at a white capping dock.

He had to fight to reopen them, though, and they felt as heavy as iron, and as stiff as the same metal left to rust for decades in a dusty and dank barn loft.

"You know," he croaked ignoring Wyatt's earlier advice that he not try to speak. "My Wyatt would have taken a perverse pleasure in seeing e so weak. He loved it when I wasn't able to run away from him. An easier target, I guess, kinda that the slow, awkward kid in gym when you're playing dodge ball"

Wyatt felt the same shameful and awkward sickness settling in his stomach. He hated hearing Chris talk so casually about the war zone he'd grown up in, as though it was just a little bit of unpleasantness, as tolerable as an awkward date.

"Chris, I…" dang. He had hoped he'd have gotten better as writing monologues and soliloquies at some point in the last four minutes. "I can't even imagine what it must have been like for you, living in that sort of word."

Chris still had the odd, far off smile painting his lips as he turned towards Wyatt and nodded. "You really couldn't, Wy," he used Wyatt's nickname. "By the time I was 20, nobody was afraid of going to Hell anymore. To most, it would have been a welcome salvation, and Heaven seemed at unattainable as a Brother's Grimm Fairytale. But it wasn't that bad."

Wyatt had to rewind his brothers words to make sure he'd heard right. Squinting his icy blue eyes in concentration, he tried to sort out all words that sounded like "wasn't that bad," because surely he hadn't just…

"Didn't you just sort of contradict yourself?" he suggested gently, peering softly through his dirty blonde curls. "How could a proverbial Hell not be that bad?"

Chris seemed to be looking right through Wyatt, as though he were nothing more than a sparkling stained glass window in a cathedral, which only painted the illusion of a man before him. "Because Wyatt was there. You, I guess."

"But I thought I was evil and cold in your world?"

The younger witch nodded again, conceding the point. "You were. You were a murderer and a sociopath. You tore down buildings, demolished cherished landmarks and killed anyone who defied you. But…"

"But what, Chris?" Wyatt prodded. "What could possibly have made up for that?"

His vague, fervent smile widened slightly, and his green eyes refocused, looking at Wyatt once more, though the brother in question wasn't sure which version of himself Chris was seeing. "You were there, Wyatt. And no matter what, I loved you. You were my brother, and even if I hated you and rebelled against you and watched as you tore yourself apart, you were always my brother. Bianca once suggested I just kill you in your sleep and get it over with, but I couldn't do that."

His throat burning slightly, and his eyes prickling, Wyatt cautioned to ask why.

"What, weren't you listening?" Chris joked feebly, his weakness truly beginning to show. "I just told you. You were my brother. And I loved you."

Whether Chris's words were spoken from true brotherly compassion or simply his temperature, Wyatt couldn't be sure, but he suspected it was a mixture of both.

But instead of rebutting him, Wyatt nodded complacently, readjusting the coarse cloth laying against Chris's brow, and gently stroked his cheek in slow, gentle strokes, silently praying for his father to hurry, please hurry.

"How you doing, sweetie?"

Piper Halliwell's sweet tenor voice had the uncanny ability to break someone out of even the most dreary and miserable reverie, and both of her sons looked up as she walked through the doorway.

It was like a Darlighter arrow through the heart to see her boy the way he was, the front of his clothes caked with layers of half-dried blood and sweat. It was all too reminiscent of seeing him in the hospital, too tired to get out of bed. He had the same pallid complexion, the same darkly bruised eyes, flushed cheeks.

'Gods Leo…please hurry…' she thought, though she kept an optimistic smile on her face, feeling, to her, as fixed as a Japanese Noh mask, it's features permanently set in one expression. She hoped it didn't look that forced, especially because a part of her truly was smiling. This was her son, her baby, one she'd lost twice, much too early, and they were finally, FINALLY getting a chance to make things right.

"M'okay, Mom," he murmured, turning his head on his pillow to better see her.

It was pretty surreal, seeing this Chris again. Although he looked nearly completely identical to the son from her own future, the two had such a distinct aura from one another. The one lying before her gave off a powerful feeling of resilience; dampened by years of fear, suffering…her own son was serious, studious, yet bright and optimistic. She was so blessed, so thankful, that he had never had to go through any of the horrors that darkened his soul before.

"Hmm…where have we heard that one before?" she chided gently, easing herself onto the bed beside her children. Though she tried to move slowly, she could see the flash of pain cross Chris's eyes at even the small movement.

"Hey…every great icon had a trademark catchphrase, right?" he retorted, his voice lighter than Piper could have thought he'd be able to make it.

"And yours just happens to be 'M'okay?" Wyatt shot back, taking an easy jab, falling perfectly back into the role of pain-in-the-neck older brother.

Chris did as much of a shrug as he could currently manage, more of a listless flop than anything else.

"Sometimes, if you say something over and over again, it becomes truth."

Wyatt scoffed slightly. "Really. Then how come when I was 14 and kept telling Mom, 'No, Ii did not fail my English final,' my report car still came home with a big black F on it?"

Chris's cocky smile played against his pale features almost clashingly. "What can I say Wy? Karma's a witch."

"And so are you." It was a cyclic word play that never got old, and somehow it gave Wyatt a gooey sort of jolt to realize that their little leftover from when they were kids spanned not only 20 years, but two lifetimes…

"Hey…Mom?" the younger Halliwell ventured after a moment of silence, the words feeling sweet and bitter in his mouth at the same time. "Can...can I have a drink of water, please?"

"Yeah, of course," she murmured back, running her hand over his hair once before easing herself up. "I'll be right back."

And she had no more than closed the bedroom door behind her when Chris, with more strength and vigor than Wyatt would have thought he was capable of, rounded on his brother.

"So, Wy…what in the name of God are you two doing here?" he asked in a light, airy voice, as though discussing a black puppy in a pet store.

Wyatt could feel his face flush, and he chuckled nervously. "Wh…what do you mean, lil' bro?"

"God, Wyatt; I'm dying, not dumb," he groaned, whether in annoyance or pain or both. "I didn't want to ask in front of Mom cause it's obviously something bad if you had to come all the way from the future."

The elder brother remained silent, his teeth clamping own tensly on his tongue, s he repeated 'future consequences, future consequences' over and over to himself.

"Come on, Chris! You're the pro time traveler here! You know the rules better than if you'd have written them yourself!" But his withering wit was met with only a half-hearted glare from Chris.

"Wyatt, you're a bloody hypocrite."

"Chris? I-"

"Eh, I'm talking!" he snapped, with such an authorative tone that it made Wyatt temporarily unsure of just who was almost 2 years older.

"You can't travel back God knows how many years to change something and then refuse to tell me what it is," he reasoned, his even voice quavering from the exertion of sounding in-charge. "I mean, really! It's not like I'm gonna be around much longer to tell, right?"

His last statement was said with a raised eyebrow and a 'what can you do?' smile that did nothing to conceal the fear in his emerald eyes.

"Don't say that, Chris…" Wyatt reputed sternly, grasping Chris's hand in both of his own. Despite the heat burning in his head, Chris's hands were bitterly cold; the tips of his fingers tinged an unearthly blue. Corpselike, a voice in the back of his head taunted sadistically, and he had to physically shake his head to keep such thoughts from settling and taking root. "You aren't going to die so don't even say that."

Though Chris tried to keep his face blank and expressionless, his mind was whirling away.

"Why?" he wanted to know. "Why lie about it? I'm…I'm tired, Wyatt…" suddenly his voice began to loose its momentum, and his speech softened. His mask slowly began to chi, it's strength showing to be made out of no more than dry clay; strong at first glance but really so brittle, especially when trying to cover such pain. "I'm tired, and I'm not stupid. I've seen people bleed to death. I know how those things go."

The way he could reference death so casually made Wyatt's skin crawl. His little brother had to have seen so many people close to his heart perish before him, having lived in he near apocalyptic war zone that he did.

"That is…" Chris's weak voice broke in, tainted with a wry suspicion. "That is, unless that's why you're here."

Wyatt was pretty sure he was doing a marginally passable imitation of a trout, what with his eyes round as coins and his jaw agape.

"Wh…what makes you say that?" he asked offhandedly, trying to appear calm, although he was sure the fact that he couldn't meet Chris's eyes, or the fact that he just happened to not be bothered by the shaggy curls obscuring his face were dead giveaways.

Faintly, he could feel his little brother returning the grip he had on his hand, albeit much more gently.

"Well, Wy," he started, trying in vain to move very slightly, to alleviate the agony in his midsection. "You were never one for subtlety. You arrive from out of nowhere, from the future, as the very moment my life is in jeopardy? What else am I suppose to think?"

Busted, Wyatt groaned infernally, harboring a tiny seed of pride at Chris's deduction and resonating skills. He'd never had much of those.

"Did anyone ever tell you you're too danned smart for your own good?" was the only reply that Wyatt could come up with, coughing it up meekly, artfully being able to confirm nor deny the accusations.

However, Chris didn't get a chance to press the point any further, as Piper's cozy bedroom was, at that moment, becoming very full.

First, the Halliwell matriarch herself walked through the mahogany doorway, a tall glass of ice water in one hand.

Not three seconds later, the opposite side of the room was suddenly lit up like the Fourth of July as the corner filled with glowing white and blue lights, illuminating the room in a peaceful glow. The two men the shower of sparks deposited into the Halliwell Manor, however, looked anything but.

Had the situation been any less dire, Chris would have laughed out loud at the sight.

Leo had Gideon by the back of his robes and by his forearm, which was currently being twisted into a seemingly physically impossible position behind his back, holding the escapee Elder firmly in place. And he looked rather worse for wear, with his uniform black robes torn and powdered with the sulphuric dirt and grime of the Underworld, and his primly waved hair was a ratted mess, framing a pale face accented by scarlet streaks and bruises the colors of eggplant.

So much for Dad being a pacifist.

"Leo, for God's sake!" the fallen headmaster pleaded, his voice hoarse and ragged. "You aren't thinking clearly!"

"I'm not thinking clearly?" Leo repeated, scoffing. "It's muddled thinking then, to want to protect my sons?" and he gestured with his head over across the room, where his eldest was watching with wide, weary eyes, and his youngest lay weak and nervous. And also to the tiny, toddling child who seemed blissfully unaware of the great chaos ensuing around him. In fact, baby Wyatt, was gurgling contentedly on his way to see his mother, noticing her advanced age just about as much as he noticed the tension hanging in the air...

Oh the naivety of children.

Piper was quick to scoop the not-yet-two-year-old into her arms, holding him tight, protected, as she strode over to the bed, positioning herself beside it as though planning to guard it with her 5 foot 3 frame.

Instead, she sat little Wyatt down on the mattress, far away from the edge. The witch took only a moment to make sure he was secure and wouldn't wobble over the edge, before she left her children's side to close the gap between her and her husband and his captive.;

"Hey, Gideon!" she chirped cheerily, smiling brightly before her fist collided with his face. The resounding crack, Wyatt as sure, could have been heard in Hong Kong and was enough to make him cringe as though it were he who had been struck.

"That's for my sons, you fecked up basstarrd!" he shrieked, with all the rage of a rabid lioness defending her cubs.

If Gideon was at all affected by her sharp tongue, he either hid it well or was too preoccupied with the throbbing at his temple to even harbor the possibility of reaction.

"I would make some comment about how the mighty have fallen," She added, making her voice little more than an angry hiss as she brought her diminutive stature up to its full height. "But that would be just too easy."

And she took two steps back, her arms folded across her chest. Her oldest wasn't sure if it was to look authoritative, or to simply restrain herself from using those hands to blow the elder to bits. And Wyatt could sympathize with the feelng, of course. How easy it would be to sheath Excalibur between two of his ribs…

But there was a time for bloodshed and a time for stopping it, and with Chris barely able to catch his breath, his grey-tinged skin betraying the pain he tried so expertly to hide, this was most definitely the latter.

"Well? What the feck are you waiting for?" his father demanded, giving the wincing form in his grasp a good shake.

Gideon just grumbled at the jarring, peering up at the room from hooded, swollen eyes. And he laughed.

It wasn't the classic maniacal chuckle of the insane. It was the soft pattering laugh of someone in on a juicy bit of gossip. No, it was a hard, sharp bark of laughter, piercing the tense atmosphere of the room as effectively as a crossbow. His guffaws seemed terribly out of place amidst so much suffering, like someone cracking jokes in someone's sickroom, as ominous as bringing a priest dressed in black to a baby's birth.

And Chris, for what it was worth, wasn't so much as sniggering.

On the contrary, the moment Gideon's panning eyes locked on his, the moment he began his fit of lunacy, Wyatt could feel his baby brother stiffen beside him, sense not only the rigidity of his muscles but also the agony it was causing him. And yet, despite the pulling it made on his stab wound, the movement causing stiff limbs to scream in protest, he made not a sound. He didn't groan nor whimper nor even seem to breathe normally.

He didn't need to, though. His body language and the haunted darkness tinting his eyes spoke volumes.

Wyatt, on the other hand, wanted to start screaming. Curses at Gideon, spells, hexes, anything. And the same tongue that could form such syllables of dannation wanted to sooth and whisper shushed word to comfort to his suffering brother. Words to calm the sole, console the body. But he doubted that with the archangel doubling over in harsh cackles that held more humor than malice that even Shakespeare himself could have thought of anything to say.

Instead, he did the only thing he could, what he'd always done. He just sat beside his brother, one cold, numb had warming in his as he held it tight, while his other rested at Chris's head, brushing damp bangs away from his sticky brow, slow and rhythmic. Even when he couldn't ease Chris's pain, whether corporeal or emotional, with words as he wished he could, he could just be there. He knew from experience that even though they might no be able to do anything, sometimes just having someone you love with you could trick yourself into feeling better, even as the world grew dark.

Just as suddenly as Gideon's outburst had started, it ceased, sharply easing into just a fluttered chuckle.

"You Halliwells!" he spat, as though the name itself was the foulest curse. "You dann witches and your idealic thoughts of righteousness and love!"

No one said anything, just watched anxiously at the breakdown occurring seemingly before their eyes. And indeed, it did seem as though the upstanding Elder was loosing it right in front of them.

"I mean, honestly!" he continued, sounding for all the world as though he were highly intoxicated, and Leo had to wrench him back sharply to keep him from falling. "You brought me here to…what was it again? Oh yes; heal young Christopher here, right?" and he gestured over to the crossbred witch lying on the bed, looking more and more pallid by the minute. "What good would it do, truly?" Gideon wanted to know. At first they thought it was a rhetorical question, until they saw him glance around expectantly, awaiting an answer of some sort.

"What good would it do?" his former student retorted, bordering on outrage. "You heal him, you might live. Isn't that good enough?"

"Hardly!" Gideon said, his accent sharp. "What with all that's going to happen now, what does it matter if we die now ir in a few decades? Hell is Hell, no matter which number life you're on!"

"What are you rambling about?" Piper snapped, reaching the end of her patience.

The gleam in Gideon's eyes as he leered at Piper was almost predatory. "My dearest Piper!" He chirped, as though welcoming the woman in for an afternoon tea party. "Have your sons taught you nothing?"

"My sons-?" Piper repeated, but couldn't get any farther.

"Gods but you're blissfully ignorant!" he continued in the same chipper tone, though it now began to saturate with an ample amount of spite. "And you call yourself a Charmed One!"

His remarks earned him a sharp punch in the back, and Wyatt silently thanked the Gods that Chris was too out of it to really know what was going on, even if that meant only the worst for his condition, because e knew that seeing the scene before him would only distress his little brother.

"Either make your point or shut up," Leo growled in his ear threateningly.

"If you would just open your blinded eyes I wouldn't need to make a point," Gideon grumbled, but hurried his words as he saw the hate rise in Leo's eyes. "I know what's going on here. From what I could make of your ramblings down in the underworld, added to the well-aged Mrs. and Junior here, you're obviously trying to stop something from happening…or rather, from happening again. And I can only imagine what."

The only movement in the room came from Little Wyatt, who was obliviously chewing on his fingers as his family either lie, sat or stood, listening raptly.

Perversely happy for a captive audience Gideon continued with as much gusto as a prisoner could. "Dear Chrissy isn't doing too well, is he?" he mocked, and Leo was beginning to wonder how such a voice could ever have inspire wisdom and trust. "You wouldn't have dragged me up here to heal his wounds if he wasn't. You need me to save him-"

"Can you?" Piper demanded, her voice as wound as a spring.

"Easily," his silken voice murmured. "But it wouldn't do any good. He's doomed anyway."

"Oh really? Because of this horrible future that you were about to sacrifice a baby to prevent?" Leo demanded, the fire of his temper ready to melt his winter green eyes.

"Because of the future YOU'RE trying to prevent!" Gideon suddenly lost his performance composure, going in an instant from dignified gentleman to the beaten and bloodied disgrace that he was.

"And what does that mean?" it was Wyatt who spoke up this time, looking over his shoulder to keep one eye on Chris as he scrutinized the man.

"You all should have been paying attention to Chris more this past year an a half!" he all but scolded, his inner teacher shining through past the bruises. "Weren't you paying attention when, time after time, he warned you of the consequences changing the past held? Don't you realize hoe tenuous the balance of destiny is?"

"Screw destiny!"

Everyone, little Wyatt included, whirled around to face Piper as she screamed, tears streaming down her face. "I don't give a dann about destiny anymore!" she proclaimed firmly. "All I care about it saving my son!"

"Bu that's where you're not understanding, Piper!" Gideon howled desperately, giving a firm lurch forward, but Leo just held him all the tighter.

Panting, Gideon focused first on Piper, but then shook his head to himself, before locking his wild eyes into Wyatt's.

"Destiny won't care one way or another if this Chris lives to see another sunset," he promised ominously. "I don't care how many years you traveled or what horrific thing happened to the boy in your year. Chris died on this day, and that death has stamped his soul better than a white-hot brand."

"Gideon, so help me God, if you don't cut the cryptic-"

"You can travel back in time a thousand times over, boy, and it won't save your brother! His body may be reborn but his soul bares a mark deeper than any stab wound! Destiny, the yin and yang of the universe, it has a way of retaining its order! Once something monumental happens, it's done! One way or another, Chris is danned!"

Leo shook his head vehemently, refusing to believe the...the…he had to be telling lies. "No, you're wrong. If you heal Chris and he survives, everything will be pu right again. Of he doesn't die now, he won't die then."

"Do you honestly believe that logic?" Gideon simpered. "Do you honestly think that changing this is going to change things? I told you Leo! His soul, his spirit, it's already been affected by fate! You see, my friend, Fate has a way of keeping everything in order. Once something happens, like a death, or a war or n earthquake, it's a done deal. It can't be erased."

"Bull," Piper called. "We've changed the past before! We saved Phoebe from being burned at the stake, we-"

"You changed nothing!" Gideon spat, eyes feral. "You changed the dates, the people involved, the insignificant details! But look, Piper!" and he gestured to the bed. "Look at Chris, and think about the future he came from! A world where magic was in the open, an evil dictatorship where anyone, witch or otherwise, who opposed the strict norm was put to death! People were imprisoned for rising against their lord, and tortured! So tell me, Piper; you saved your baby sister from burning at the stake, but who's to say that she didn't meet a worse fate than before? You stopped that man with the dog from learning about witch craft, stopped him from his crusade, only to open the door for another! Your own son! The future was still a helll, and you're trying to tell me it changed?"

"But we saved Wyatt! He's good now! And we aren't dominated by a corrupt dictatorship!"

"That's true," Gideon conceded the point. "But how do you know the next generation will have the same luck? Destiny always has her way."

The oldest Halliwell stared in shock, trying to let this sink in. Across the room, Wyatt was torn between anger and repulsion, and Chris was slipping further and further into unconsciousness.

"But…but…what are you trying to tell us? That no matter what happens today, Chris is still going to die when he turns 23?"

"If he's lucky!" Gideon sneered. "Compared to what else Fate could throw at his, death may be a mercy! Destiny will compensate for whatever you take from her today! You may save Chris, but perhaps, when you return to your time, Wyatt here is dead, or your nieces. Or Chris may be the next Source of All Evil. Or maybe…"

"That's enough!" Wyatt yelled, finally loosing his already unstable temper. Beside him, Chris groaned gently at the noise, and he silently berated himself. "Just tell me straight; you're saying that even if we save this Chris, something horrible will still happen to OUR Chris?"

"Smart boy you got there, Leo!" Gideon congratulated the Elder. "That's exactly what I'm saying! And even if Chrissy if not destined to die, what could befall him insread may very well make his wish he was."

Three pairs of eyes flickered across each other, Piper's honey brown ones gazing sorrowfully at Leo's olive-colored orbs, while Wyatt's crystal blues were barely able to hide hiss panic, and they were all acutely aware of the boy near them, the young man who was hanging onto life by a thread…

And all three were hearing Gideon's words resonating in their heads. It wouldn't matter…Destiny would compensate for the loss…Chris's new future could be worse…

But to a family that had lost so much, what could possibly be worse than death?

"I don't care," It was Wyatt whose croaking voice finally cut through the pregnant silence, sounding strained, as though it hurt. "If Chris dies now, that's it. It's over. But…" he looked from his mother, to his father holding Gideon forcefully, to his baby brother…his chest just barely moving…not giving a dann about strength, he let the tears fall, burning scalding trails down his cheeks as he leaned to half lay beside Chris, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"But if we save him now, he has a chance later."

"He also has a chance to have an even worse future," Gideon warned, wary of the tone of Wyatt's voice.

The Twice Blessed shook his head not looking up, and he spoke more to Chris than to Gideon.

"A chance either way is better than no chance at all."

For a moment, he thought that his parents would protest, and Piper, for a moment, wanted to. Remembering all that she'd heard of Chris's future…seeing her son so sick, feverish and suffering...seeing him bleed…perhaps allowing Fate to take him would be merciful…

But she only had to glance at Chris to realize how wrong that deduction was. Chris was a fighter, never giving up for his own mercy. Just seeing him now, sickly pale, shaking in pain even in sleep, yet still struggling so hard against the comforting pull of death, she couldn't step back and allow him to slip away. Not her baby. Not her Chris.

Swallowing the tears gathering in her throat, she stood straighter, raising her jaw almost defiantly at Gideon.

And for Leo, there had been no question. With little more than a nod from Piper, he shoved Gideon violently forward, never letting him out of his grasp lest he foolishly decide to orb out.

"You still want to do this?" Gideon hissed disbelievingly. "Knowing how much he could suffer? How much your family could suffer?"

Leo' steely gaze drilled into Gideon's coldly as he said, "There isn't anything that could harm our family more than what you did to us."

His thunder sufficiently stolen, Gideon seemed to sag in Leo' grasp, a mere shadow of the jovial, vibrant scholar he had once been. His bruises stood out in higher contrast, the blood staining his face seemed more vibrant, the dirt on his robes more filthy.

"Get on with it before I gouge your eyes out," barked the elder brother, knowing intrinsically that Chris only had moments left.

And finally, with all the reluctance of a man walking to his death by the electric chair, Gideon shakily raised his hands, spreading his palm inches above Chris's wounds, and the room was bathed in the soft, golden light.

Each Halliwell watched intently, biting their lips, praying and waiting as slowly, almost imperceptibly, the shredded muscle began to knit itself together, the blood rewound itself, uncoagulating and lowing back into the wound, to son be covered by newly stitched skin.

Wyatt felt like screaming in relief as the last drop of blood reentered the stab wound, which was now little more than a scratch. He was ok…Chris was ok…already he could see the color tinting his skin, turning it to a healthily, warm pink. He wanted to seize his brother, hold him in his arms, feel his pulse thrumming and his heart beating, hear the shush of his breathing, slow and even.

But he never even got to see his wake up, because not a moment after the cut healed over completely, leaving not a shred of evidence to its existence, Wyatt was suddenly seized by he most intense vertigo he'd ever experienced…the room spun, his eyes played tricks on his, causing his to see lights playing off the walls…and for a moment, he could have sworn he could see the bedspread and lampshade blowing in a gale wind…

But…he could feel the wind on his skin, hear it in his ears…and he was moving…

It wasn't vertigo. It was their spell. Chris was safe, Gideon was as good as dead…there was no reason for them to be there anymore, and their portal had reopened, its triquetra mouth gaping open to swallow them whole.

But Wyatt could have swore, even above the deafening rush of decades flying by, he heard the enraged, mad, maniacal cry of a fallen Eler, screaming one last warning…

"You have no idea what horrors you'll return home to!"

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Well? 14 pages, and what did ya think? This chapter went faster than most of mine do (like I said, cookies to Bre!!!!) and I've been waiting to write it for over TWO YEARS!

So, what exactly are Wyatt and Piper going to go home to? Wanna find out? Then please review, and keep reading!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	21. Chapter 21

Hello everyone and welcome to the secocnd-to-last chapter of Destined to Die

Hello everyone and welcome to the second-to-last chapter of Destined to Die! More kudos to Bre-Chan for making me (and yes, I said making me) write this chapter. And to JeChan, just for making me smile!

Also, I've said it a MILLION times, and it seems that NO ONE READS MY AUTHORS NOTES! SO, I'll say it one more time:

I KNOW I have spelling errors. I know it OK? I willingly choose not to have a beta because I am diagnostically paranoid and untrusting and I do NOT want a total stranger proofreading my chapter, leaving my work in someone else's hands.

For those of you nice enough to actually read my profile or authors notes, THANK you! 

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

The ride back to the future was just as unnerving and disorienting as the ride back. There was the rushing of time slipping fast-forward round them, their ears catching brief snippets of the last 23 years.

But forward was worse. So much worse. In 2004, they knew what to expect. As horrible and heart-wrenching as their welcome was, they were prepared, on some level. But now?

Gideon's warning echoed in their ears, hollowing out their hearts to make room for more dread and foreboding to take root.

"_You have no idea what horrors you'll return home to!"_

What would they find? Wyatt couldn't even bear to think. It was almost a paradox, actually. Here they were, passing over two decades in a swift flight, and yet he never felt time drag by so slowly. How long does it take to time travel? Hours, it seemed to Wyatt. Days even. Was that a paradox, or irony?

Piper was trapped in her own inner anguish. Why did it seem that Fate was out to get the Halliwells? Did she and Destiny have some sort of personal vendetta against the coven?

Chris.

What did he ever do to deserve being trapped in such a torturous time loop? Destined to suffer, destined to bear the brunt of the world's weight, destined to always fail. Why? After all he had done, risking everything he had to save the future, why had he-

With a jarring and gut-;lurching ferocity they were thrown from the wormhole and onto the attic floor again, skidding across the polished wood, catching cloth and skin of rough boards and loose nails, drawing blood.

Piper never wanted to see another drop of blood as long as she lived.

The mother and her child lay belly down on the floor for only a few seconds, no longer than they dared, in order to regain their orientation. Wyatt could feel a sharp ache beginning to form in his chest, most likely from bruised ribs, hopefully not broken. Even if they were, he doubted he could bring himself to care. He could be holding his innards in his very hands for all he cared; all that mattered at the moment was Chris.

"You ok?" he asked Piper, helping his mother to her feet. She coughed in reply, expelling an admirable amount of dirt and dust as means of reply.

"We have got to start sweeping that floor more often," she jested, though her humor was halfhearted and fell on uncaring ears. His wasn't the time for light hearted jokes, no matter how forced.

"You ready, Mom?" Wyatt prompted, wanting nothing more than to hurry up and see his brother.

Piper reached out eagerly to grasp Wyatt's hands, but she hesitated, her hand hovering above Wyatt's. A moment ago she was longing to run and see her baby, the anxiety eating away at her from the inside. But now, only a beat later, she couldn't bring herself to grasp Wyatt's hand to orb her along with him.

She was afraid. No, that was too weak a word.

Piper was terrified.

Gideon's final prophesy followed her back from 2004, clinging to her, soaking into her skin, tainting her clothes. It hovered about her in a smoggy cloud, filling her lungs, burning her throat with tars. It sunk deep into her blood, poisoning her soul with dread like a virus, like the very sickness that had taken Chris form her the second time. His words reverberated over and over in her ears, becoming the very nature of the prophesy itself; death clung to Chris with a fervor, like a prized trinket, and misfortune was his shadow. And now, it seemed, this final promise was Piper's own cross to bear.

Wyatt shook his hand, impatient, and flicked a matted curl out of his eyes deftly.

"Mom, c'mon! Let's go!" the witch insisted, not able to see the uncertainty looming behind Piper's hazel eyes.

With a tightening in her chest like a metal band, she shook her head helplessly. "Wyatt, I can't…"

"What do you mean you can't?" Wyatt repeated. He was so bent on getting to his brother, his mind set on one track that he couldn't comprehend his mother's reluctance to do the same "Mom, we have no idea how Chris is! We need to-"

"That's why I can't!" Piper's shaky, timid voice finally surged, sharp and loud. Startled by even her own yelling, Piper just took to shaking her head again. "That's why I can't! Don't you get it, Wy? We have no idea how Chris is! He could still be sick! He could be hurt! He might not even be-" but the band tightened, cutting off words she couldn't harbor.

Wyatt's frustrating softened, sensing how torn his mother was, though still not understanding it.

"But, Mom! Don't you see?" he stepped forward, really not wanting to have a chick-flick moment when he should be orbing over to wherever Chris was. "That's why we HAVE to go! He could be perfectly fine! He could be alive and healthy and wondering where the hell we are, and you wanna just stand here and fret yourself silly?"

He had a point and she bloody well knew it. But that did nothing to sate her fear. Every aspect of Murphy's Law was running rampant in her exhausted brain, running scenario after horrid scenario.

"Wyatt, I…I just…"

"Just what?" came Wyatt's angered reply, now almost furious at his mother's stubborn balking. "Just can't stand to bear a little ore pain for your son's sake?"

Piper clenched her eyes shut against Wyatt's cutting words, feeling almost unable to breath against his suffocating agitation and her own smothering anxiety.

"You're his mother!" Wyatt continued, sounding as distressed as Piper felt. "It shouldn't matter if you're scared! What if HE is? What if, Gods forbid, something IS wrong and there's no one there with him? Ever think about that?"

Piper hadn't. She truly hadn't. All she could think about was the hardship of having to see Chris, or either of her children, in a worse situation than what they had already suffered through. No mother wanted to see her child suffering…but no good mother would just turn her back and pretend it wasn't happening.

Unable to find her choice again, Piper just breathed deeply, stealing herself as he reached out shakily to take Wyatt's hand, reveling in the weightless feeling of being dissolved into millions of point of light and soaring through the air above San Francisco. She had no physical senses while orbing, but she could imagine the feel of the icy wind against her skin, whipping through her hair, blowing her closer to Chris, her youngest, and whatever tragedy may befall them.

)o(

The pair corporealized beside the main door of the hospital, sufficiently covered by the thick hedges covering the bleak concrete walls. It was still night in the present or very early morning, and there was no moon; the only light was the artificial fluorescent spilling out the 3 sets of double doors and the floodlight illuminating the carved letters of the hospital's entrance sign. Piper had no more than felt the tips of her fingers and toes meld back together before Wyatt began pulling her along behind him. Warmth flowed over their chilled bodies as the automatic doors swooshed open in front of him, the stark an nearly empty lobby a far too sterile place for such emotional stress to harbor.

Wyatt felt rather like some sort of soap opera actor walking into a lecture hall or a staunch Victorian parlor; he just didn't belong. This was for people who had to wait for news, who needed to rely on time to tell them what they needed to know, and needed to be quiet and think. Wyatt had no time to dwell on thoughts of What If's. Playing What If and letting himself become overwhelmed by all the horror that could befall his little brother only kept him from the truth even longer.

The careened through the corridors, taking only a moment to be sure and mind themselves carefully around wheelchairs and stretchers. More than once they could hear the scoldings and curses of a nurse or orderly, most likely one they had almost knocked over. The young Halliwell couldn't help but think wryly that his mother would be ashamed of his behavior had she not been trailing behind him just as recklessly.

Finally they reached the turnoff in the corridor, and the set of double doors that separated the ICU from the other wards. Wyatt halted himself, panting heavily and bent double, rubbing harshly at a stitch tearing between his sore ribs. His first impulse was to shoot through those doors with as much ferocity as he had shot down the hallway, but deeply ingrained sense stopped him. Rude and inconsiderate didn't even begin to cover how such behavior would be seen in the ICU. It was as though the bold, black lettering above the door way serves as a barrier, as effective as his family's trademark crystal cage.

Wyatt gnawed at his bottom lip, not bothering to brush the hair form his eyes. God he must be a site, with his damp and tangled curls matting at the ends, his rumpled clothes rancid and wrinkled. His mother, a woman he always saw as nothing than beautiful, was looking worse for wear even to him, and if she looked less than pristine, he shuddered to think of his own appearance.

But he couldn't bear to dwell on such trivialities. Who the hell cared how he looked right now?

He glanced sideways at his mother, who looked so steeled and determined Wyatt had to wonder how she did it. How could she construct an armor so exact, with each rivet so tightly anchored and each feature painted with the skill of an angels brush that not even an empathy could sense the absolute torment that lay behind the metal?

Before Wyatt could even decide what to do next, Piper had already taken matters into her own hands. Without so much as a hesitation or tremble, she reached out, pressing the buzzer located beside the locked doors, ringing the nurses station.

"Good morning. What can I do for you?" came the somewhat static voice through the speaker, sounding far away and rustling.

"Yes, I would like to see my son, Chr-"

"Ma'am, it's 1:30 in the morning, visiting hours are over," the nurse replied sharply, as though she was pissed at having to work the nightshift and was letting Piper know it.

But Piper could be just as pissy. Narrowing her deep brown eyes, she stood tall, as though trying to look intimidating to a woman who couldn't even see her.

Taking a deep breath, she continued in a firm, even voice, "I know it is, but my son and I, we need to see him. We weren't able to get here any sooner."

A few low murmurs twined over the speaker, sounding vaguely like swearwords. "I already told you, visiting hours are over. We keep very strict hours in the ICU so the patients can rest, so unless your son in a minor or you have his doctor's permission, I can't let you in."

Wyatt gulped as he watched his mom, and, more particularly, his mother's itchy trigger fingers; he could tell she was just dying to blow the voice box off the wall.

But Piper Halliwell refrained from indulging in such a gross breach of Wiccan etiquette Instead, she took a step closer to the voice box, pointing a scolding finger at it almost absurdly. "I don't care if it's passed visiting hours, lady," she replied, her words harsh but her tone almost civil. My son is sick, and I haven't seen him in…in…well, it feels like years! Please, just…can you at least tell me how he is?"

For a minute there was nothing but static on the speaker, sounding like leaves or a butterscotch candy wrapper. Finally, the long-suffering nurse sighed a "fine," and Wyatt could hear the locks in the door disengaging.

The ICU was, understandably, one of the quietest wards in the hospital, particularly at such an ungodly hour in the morning. On instinct, the pair wanted to head straight for the room Chris had been admitted to, but they were sidestepped by a frazzled nurse in grey scrubs, presumably the one his mother had snipped at.

"Name, please," she prompted, taking a long swallow from a jumbo cup of Starbucks before poising her keys over her keyboard.

"Christopher Halliwell," both his brother and mother recited at once, and Wyatt added his room number.

The nurse looked at them puzzled for a moment, but said nothing as he long fingers tapped across the keys. She studied the screen in front of her, retyped more information, and scrolled again, before taking another gulp of her coffee and announcing, "There is no Christopher Halliwell in the ICU."

Piper's first gut reaction was the desire to cry in relief. Just hours ago, Chris had been lying deathly ill in the ICU, and now he wasn't even there. She clasped her hands to her mouth, shuddering in relief.

Wyatt, however, realized suddenly, this wasn't necessarily celebratory news. Murphy's Law haunted their family, after all, and just because he wasn't in ICU didn't mean he was peachy-keen. It ripped at him to see his mother looking so relieved, obviously not having the same revelation he was. How could he even bare to suggest that Chris may be in worse shape than before? Of course…maybe she WAS right. San Francisco was an enormous city, and Chris could be anywhere…but still…

"Would you mind searching again, please?" It tormented Wyatt's heart to ask it, but he just had to know. Usually being a pessimist was Chris's specialty, and he was the one to be pathologically positive. However, nothing seemed to be going the way it should now…

The nurse glanced daggers up at him, let out a pitiful sigh and grudgingly began to peck at the keyboard again. She reminded him rather of the nurse who had examined Chris when he was first admitted. God, it seemed like that was 2 years ago rather than just over 2 days! Or was it longer even than that? Time travel and no sleep could seriously distort a persons perception of hours.

As the grouchy nurse clicked her way through the hospitals digital records, Piper was looking positively betrayed, as though Wyatt's pain was a personal insult.

"Wyatt," she hissed quietly, needing to say nothing more to get her message across.

Wyatt got it. Oh he understood clear as crystal, but he chose to ignore. He never was a very obedient child. Besides, he had more important things on his mind than repressed memories of scoldings.

Grumpy took her sweet time clicking through the windows on the screen, and had just opened her mouth, most likely to snap that she, again, didn't find anything, until something n the screen caught her eye. She raised one eyebrow in a semi-interested fashion, her drowsy eyes scanning the type on the monitor.

"Hmm…you two aren't even on the right floor, hon," she informed Wyatt, flicking her eyes from the screen only briefly.

And Wyatt's heart plummeted to the bottom of his darkening soul. That meant that Chris was still in the hospital!

Hidden by the tall counter, Wyatt reached out in search of Piper's hand, feeling it tremble in his own. Trying to be strong for his mother, he reasoned with himself. If Chris wasn't in ICU, that meant he wasn't as sick as before. A cold, a light fever, sprained ankle, that was nothing. They could deal with it.

Piper seemed to be thinking the same thing, because as Wyatt could see the gears churning in her mind he felt her hand relax, saw her face become calmer.

The nurse was jotting down something on a pad of paper a blue one patterned with some kind of parrot in the background. She capped her pen and handed the paper over to Wyatt wordlessly before getting up to answer the call light that just flipped on above a patient's doorway.

Feeling more at peace than he had in a while, Wyatt picked the square of paper off the laminate countertop to read, sure that nothing it had to say could be any worse than the Hell they had gone through already.

Until he actually read it.

And he knew he was wrong, so very wrong.

"Wyatt?" Piper prodded, trying to see what was written on the page, knowing that it held nothing but more bad news for their broken family. "Wyatt, let me see it."

But Wyatt couldn't even move. Just a handful of words scrawled in thin, loopy writing, and yet they held more power over him than the most fearful enchantress.

Not knowing was making Piper expect the worse, 100 scenarios playing like a movie stuck on fast-forward. "Wyatt, please!" she all but begged, shaking him with the little will she could muster. "Just tell me he isn't….isn't…"

"Dead?" Wyatt supplied in a monotone. "No, he's alive." He assured her, and before she could press him any further for details, to ask him what could possibly be worse then that, he handed the parrot paper over without a word, turning his back to her and leaving the ward in silence.

Piper watched him until the door swung slowly back into place behind him, not sure if she really wanted to read it…but she had to…

Her warm cocoa eyes drank in the words before her, as though siphoning the ink off the page itself, and in seconds she had her answer, and once more she wished she could reverse the hands of time, to undo the 4 seconds it took her to read them, because she was sure her aging heart wouldn't be able to take this one last heartbreak. Hastily folding the page into quarters, she stuffed it into her breast pocket and followed her son's path, because she now knew exactly where he was. Where bother her sons were.

_Halliwell, Christopher_

_3__rd__ floor, room 377_

_Psychiatric Ward_

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

…

…

…

Well?

How's my Evil Score rating about now? Tell the truth; did any of you see than one coming?

Hope not, cause even I didn't know it was coming! I had an entirely different direction for this story to go, but then while I was doing housework one day, this idea just popped into my head and it was MUCH more interesting! I also apologize for its relative shortness; it's a transition chapter, after all.

There's only ONE CHAPTER LEFT of Destined to Die everyone, so please be sure to leave a review! If you don't, I just might have to leave you, Chris and Wyatt hanging here for a while and go write for my anime fandoms again! (insert evil laughter here)

Really, though. Reviews are loved.

Lottsa love,

LLC


	22. Chapter 22

Well

Well. Wow. I can't believe I've finally made it to the very last chapter of Destined to Die. This was my baby. I've been working on it since September 5th, 2005. Forever ago!

What happens to Chris in this chapter was inspired by a story I read quite some time ago, that the author deleted after just a handful of chapters. I greatly enjoyed this story, and always wondered what would have happened next. I've taken the opportunity to use this story, as well as it's VERY LIKELY SEQUAL to explore that.

Well, I'll leave the sob stories and goodbyes for after this chapter. For now, just enjoy.

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Wyatt was numb. He felt nothing, physically nor mentally, as he rode the blessedly empty elevator up to the third floor. Leaning bracingly against the cold metal railing at the back, he stared blandly as the glossy, reflective doors, the very slightly wavered metal revealing a grainy, rippled and distorted reflection back at the witch. He looked like an abstract oil painting, lines loosing their clarity as they hit the silvery sheet like an artist's masterpiece under the merciless siege off diluting turpentine. Enough clarity to know his dirty blonde curls were lank and beginning to live up to their hue description, far too bleary to see the dark rings around his baby blues.

Thank God for small mercies. He knew he looked like the hell spawn he spent his life vanquishing; he didn't need the visual proof. Not that he could care right now. Only the vein and heartless could give so much as a thought to their own appearance when there was someone close to them suffering a fate much more urgent than a bad hair day.

The elevator climbed up the shaft with a languid sluggishness, as though being lifted upwards by a single man with a pulley. He only had to go up from the ground floor to the third. A differe4nce of two floors, but it dragged on for seemingly two hours, giving his tired, overworked and sleep-exhausted mind ample time to sort through oh-so-many possible scenarios it was churning out.

God, he didn't know how much more of this he could take. Only a few days. A week ago, everything was fine. Demons, warlocks, the occasional hag; those were the immediate threats upon their lives. They suffered cuts, scrapes, a few broken bones, maybe a concussion or two, but rarely anything more serious. But in less than 100 hours, everything he had ever taken as normality in a life where the word had scarcely any meaning had been ripped away from him. It was as though trapped in a horror movie, where everything was foreign, nothing familiar, and one could only imagine the horrors waiting behind the next corner.

Why? Why was this happening? Why was Chris's soul cursed? Why was he in the psychiatric ward? What could have happened?

PING!

Wyatt startled as the elevator lurched gently to a stop, the ticker alerting him to his arrival as the doors slid in among themselves to disappear within its panels.

Time to face the monsters.

He used the bar behind him as leverage to give him the incentive to abandon the relative security of his industrial cocoon. This…this was just too much. The straw that would soon break the camels back, he supposed. One man could only take so much stress, so much heartache…

Hell. Maybe that's what happened to his baby brother.

San Francisco General Hospital's psychiatric ward looked remarkably like every other wing in the hospital he had visited this far. White tiled floors, while spackled walls with a soft, pastel colored border running a third of the way up. Four hallways branched out in crossroads around an 8 sided nurse's desk. The only difference was that none of the rooms had doors in their frames, save the locked double doors on the farthest hallway, and he prayed to a God he was loosing faith in that Chris wasn't sleeping in that wing.

Still feeling almost apathetic, he walked despondently over to the center island, feeling more detached than a soap opera viewer. Perhaps he felt it better to hide from his pain, from his grief as long as he could, to postpone the anguish. More merciful to just bar his heart from the what if's until he knew for sure what he was about to have to deal with.

He didn't even bother with speaking to a nurse this time around. He had no use. He knew the room number, and knew if he asked for information he'd be turned away until morning, and he couldn't wait until morning.

The first room the emotionless witch encountered was 364, and a look down the hallway produced only descending numbers. Crossing the lobby area, he investigated the numbers above those doors. They went in the correct direction.

He did his damndest to keep his eyes away from the gaping doorways, to ignore the many occupied rooms, and the patients resting (or not) within them.

Wyatt had never visited such a ward before, and wasn't sure what he was expecting. There was no one screaming in the hallways, no one hissing at him from behind glass panels. From his reluctant glances, no one was rocking in a corner or banging their heads against walls. Perhaps those were the sorts kept behind the locked doors.

372. 373. 374.

But there was certainly more activity here than in most parts of the hospital. He could hear a number of mutterings, one-sided conversations meant to fall upon imaginary ears. He could see more than one pair of blood-shot eyes staring at his apprehensively as he walked by.

375. 376.

And the number at the next door, white embossed over deep turquoise, was 377. Wyatt didn't bother pulling the angst card, waiting outside the doorway for what seemed like hours, dwelling and anguishing and lamenting over what may be found past the threshold. No, he took one last look at the inscribed numbers and walked straight through the door.

There was only one bed in the room. One bed, a nightstand, bolted to the wall. A window, most likely reinforced tempered glass.

One bed. His baby brother.

Chris lay curled up in bed, face tucked down to pulled-up knees, a pale blue blanket tucked securely around him and in his arms, he clasped some sort of plush animal, too firmly held to be immediately recognizable. Wyatt supposed he should find this odd, as his brother was now officially 23 years old and far, far, too old to be sleeping with a stuffed animal, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It did, however, bring his attention to other oddities scattered throughout the room. Another animal, a yellow bear, was perched merrily at his bedside, a black smile stitched permanently onto his velvety muzzle. He sat by his lonesome, in loe of the flowers that usually adorned the hospital rooms of beloved sons. On the wall, attached with short pieces of Scotch tape, were a couple crayon drawings, sloppily rendered in an amateur's hand. The dim light of the lamp made it impossible to really tell their subjects apart. The small pack of 8 crayons, generic, lying beside the sunny bear, were barely worn, meaning they were new.

Chris didn't have teddy bears. Chris didn't color with crayons. Something was undeniably wrong with this picture but, then again, things were seldom right.

By his bed was a chair, just a plastic chair, a step above a Dollar Store clearance. But he was bone weary, the weight of the world feeling like it was steadily increasing, and he sank into it like an English leather armchair.

Beside him, Chris stirred in his slumber, nuzzling down into his pillow even further, but he did not wake. Wyatt knew he was probably exhausted. He sure was. But that was too bad, because he needed answers, damn it.

"Chris? Chris, hey little brother, time to get up!" he called, just loud enough to attract Chris's attention and no one else's. He accentuated this with a firm shake at his shoulder.

Chris all but growled at Wyatt, like a small dog with a tasty bone.

Wyatt almost smiled. Almost.

"C'mon, Chris. This is no time to be lazy! Rise and shine!"

With another grumbly growl, Chris eased open one irritated eyes, blinking in the anemic light. He stared at Wyatt drowsily for a minute, allowing the green orb to focus before a tired smile curled at his lips.

"Wyatt!" he grinned, holding the animal (now recognizable a lion) even closer to his chest.

Wyatt did his best to smile back, to show he was happy to see him. And he was. Happier than he could ever think, seeing him alive and healthy. Ecstatic to see his breathing, smiling, after he'd last seen him weak and a breath from death's door. But…happy as he was, something was holding back true calm.

"Wyatt, what are you doing here so early?" he murmured, sounding like he was still mostly asleep.

Wyatt sat in silence, elbows resting on his knees as he contemplated the question. One he wasn't sure how he was suppose to answer. He knew nothing of what was going on in this new timeline, didn't have a clue why Chris was where he was.

"Erm…I…I just missed you, that's all," he replied nonchalantly, hoping the generic answer would be enough. Chris was smart, though, and surely he wouldn't buy into such a meek-

"Oh. Ok." Was Chris's only reply, swallowing the excuse with no skepticism. Only acceptance.

Wyatt looked up, wide-eyed and startled at the unwavering and unquestioning trust in Chris's voice. That wasn't his Chris. His Chris would have taken one look at him, eyebrow cocked, before replying with a snotty retort about not being as dumb as his brother.

He should have known from the very beginning, finding Chris in the place he was, that this wouldn't be either of the Chris's he knew.

"Hey Wyatt?" Chris's voice was lofty, soft. "When can I go home?"

Another question he couldn't answer. Feeling as lost as Hansel after the crow's ate his breadcrumbs, Wyatt simply tried to produce a bracing smile.

"I dunno, Chris, but I'm sure it won't be too much longer."

Chris nodded, his eyes lowered. "Is Momma still mad with me?" he wanted to know.

Wyatt's brow furrowed, and he was sinking deeper and deeper every moment. Reaching out, unsure of how Chris would act, he took Chris's hand, relishing the feel of his warm, living skin. "Chris, why would she be mad with you?"

His little brother lowered his eyes, using his free hand to pick at the fuzzy pills that collected at the surface of his blanket. "Cause," he murmured. "I broke the curio cabinet and got hurt."

"You…you broke Mom's curio cabinet?" Wyatt repeated, gathering every word Chris said n an attempt to piece together a puzzle with half the parts missing. "Why would you do something like that?" Maybe if he prompted him, he could get an answer.

"I told you, Wy," Chris all but pouted, unable to look his brother face to face. "I don't 'member doin' it. I promise!"

Wyatt gave Chris's hand another reassuring squeeze, wishing with everything he was for answers. And where the hell was his mother? Surely she would have been right behind him.

Someone. He needed to find someone, talk to someone. Someone who could tell him what was going on, light a candle and point him in the right direction.

"Uh…I don't know, Chris. There's no reason she should be mad at you. Do you think it was an accident?"

"I think so," he agreed hesitantly. "But like I said, I don't remember it."

"How long have you been in here, Chris?" Wyatt asked bluntly, far too emotionally drained to try to sneak around with delicate questions.

If Chris was at all taken aback by Wyatt's forwardness, he didn't show it. Instead, he thought hard for a moment, before telling him, "Two days, this time."

Wyatt took a moment to let the words "this time" sink in before sighing deeply, his heart pounding in his temples. This was too damn overwhelming, too much emotion crammed into just a few days. He hung his head, fisting his fingers into his matted curls, suppressing (barely) the primal urge to just start screaming.

"Wyyy?" Chris cooed, pushing himself up in bed, sitting cross-legged amongst a nest of blankets and sheets. "Wy? Are you sick?"

It tore him up every time Chris spoke, with that sweetness, that naiveté, without a drop of snark to be found.

"No, Chris. I'm just tired," he finally groaned from behind his hair, "I am tired, damn it! Tired, and confused, and I just…I just…"

"You want answers, don't you son?"

The witch's head snapped up, and in a heartbeat he was off his seat, standing defensively before Chris's bedside, his posture still, imposing, ready to fight.

But the figure he was met with hardly looked like a threat. An aging black man in a custodial uniform, blue coveralls, with graying hair and a craggy face. Not exactly the menacing underworld thing he was expecting. He looked like he barely had enough spunk left in his to tackle a rogue mop.

All the same, Wyatt was on the defensive. Experience, painful experience, taught him to be on alert at all times, as demons and warlocks would do anything to get to a tantalizing and bountiful witch.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded of the senior citizen, hands itching, fingers flexing in anticipation of a quick draw of magic.

Wyatt was a formidable opponent; standing nearly six and a half feet tall, all muscle and tough sinew, he was intimidating to even the most hardened demon. But this man didn't seem fazed at all by his standing at full height. In fact, he drew closer, casually strolling over the the two brothers. Instinctively, Wyatt moved closer to Chris's bedside, but the younger crossbreed was about as tense as their alleged foe. Smiling, he leaned forward, green eyes bright at the prospect of yet another visitor.

"Clarence!" he greeted gleefully, nearly bouncing in bed.

"Hey there!" Clarence smiled back, pulling up another chair beside Wyatt's, sitting backwards with his arms folded on the back. "How you been, sport?"

"Fine," Chris smiled, suddenly becoming bashful at the attention.

Wyatt let the exchange last only a moment before he intervened, standing very much in Clarence's personal bubble.

"Excuse me, _Clarence,_ but may I ask you just one question?" he asked with a voice dripping with satire.

"Of course! Shoot!" was the casual reply, as though about to be drilled with a little classic sports trivia.

"Who the hell are you?!"

If Wyatt's booming voice and wild, Tarzan appearance startled the janitor, he failed to show it. He remained calm and mild, his face placid. "I'm Clarence."

Groaning with frustration, Wyatt shook his head, using every ounce of self control to not lay a shot on him. "I got that much, smart ass!" he ground out. "But WHO are you?"

"Clarence said he could help us."

Chris spoke with a sudden clarity, somber almost, but hopeful. His brother turned around, as though now depending on his les than mentally stable brother to give him the answers he sought. "Chris? What was that?"

"He's gonna help us, Wy," he chirped, slipping back into his childlike tone. "He said he can help us make things right again."

Wyatt eased himself back down on Chris's bed, feeling the firm mattress dip at his weight. "Make what right again, bro?" he asked slowly, waiting with held breath.

Chris shrugged. "I dunno," he replied simply and he began to fiddle with the red polyester mane of his feline buddy. "Just…things, I guess."

"What things?" Wyatt's temper reared again, startling Chris, who jumped and stared at Wyatt with wide, wary eyes.

"I…I…"

"Don't go flyin' off the handle with him, son," the Blackman reprimanded sternly. "You know well as I do that none of this is his fault."

"Then who the hell's fault is it then?" Wyatt demanded, not really caring about keeping his voice under control. "Who's is it? Cause God knows I'd like to beat the crap out of something right about now, and if you don't start spitting up answers, grandpa, then you may start looking like a damned nice target!"

The three men in the small room were stifled bu the heavy silence following the witch's harsh words. Even Wyatt himself was surprised; he never lost his temper like this. At least, not until the last few days. And he regretted it. What the hell was he going to fix by loosing his cool? What would he accomplish, aside from frightening his mentally ill brother?

But all the same, could anyone really blame him? How much hell had he gone through in the recent hours? All the questions, building up and multiplying, and not an answer in site. Why was Chris in here? Just how accurate was Gideon's final prophesy? Who or what was Clare4nce, and why had no one run into the room to investigate his tantrum? There was a nurse's station just down the hallway! They'd send security in to drag him off if he wasn't careful.

"No one's around to hear, Wyatt, so calm down." His voice, the man's, had a strangely calming quality to it. "Now sit yur ass down for a minute fo' you give yourself an ulcer."

Although an open sore in his stomach was the least of his very long list of anxieties right down, Wyatt did as he ws told, more fearful that he'd kele over from heart failure.

Quietness settled over the room for a beat, as Wyatt allowed Clarence to have the floor.

"Well, Wyatt, I know Chris is more the brains in your duo, but surely your memory ain't that full of holes. Think boy; don't I look familiar to you?"

Wyatt studied his deeply creased features, wracking his brain with all he had. He did look familiar, so familiar.

"How bout a hint?" he suggested, and held his hand out, bare and weathered palm upwards. In a matter of seconds, a folded piece of paper began to materialize in his hand, fading in from nowhere.

The magic trick failed to impress Wyatt. The contents of his hand blew him over. That piece of parchment…aged, withered, falling to bits…hesitantly, as though expecting it to be snatched away from his grasp, he reached out with a quivering hand to take it, already knowing full well what it would say.

A spell. THE spell. The one he used to travel back in time…

The one Chris used to travel back in time. 24 years ago, but not a day before today. Time's paradox.

"This…this is…" Wyatt sputtered, looking from the pape4r up to the man. He knew who he was now, as well as he knew his own father.

"What are you?" he cautioned, not sure he wanted this particular answer.

"I'm an angel of death." Clarence said, casual and calm as anything.

Now Wyatt felt like the insane brother. "Right. What else?" he mumbled to himself. Then, "Wait, woah, just hold on a-"

"I'm not out to collect your soul!" He laughed, knowing exactly what Wyatt was thinking. With a good chuckle, he slapped his knee, gathering himself again. "it's like Chris over here said; I'm here to help you put this whole mess back together."

Wyatt said nothing, but hung on to Clarence's every word.

"I'm an angel of death, Wyatt," he said again, his tone loosing it's laughter. "I know your bother. Knew him since he was someone else."

"You knew the other Chris…" he stated, stealing a side glance at his brother. Alth9ough he looked up every time his name was said, he was off in his own world for the most part, completely uninterested in the serious conversation around him.

"That's right," he confirmed with a nod. "Years and years I've known him, and I know as well as you do that he doesn't deserve this."

"And just what is "this?" Wyatt asked, jerking his head to the left.

With a sigh, Clarence studied the young man in bed, black eyes filling with a profound sadness. "Your brother had had a hard life this time around, Wyatt. Perhaps not the hell he went through the first time, but he deserves much better than what he's had."

"Which is?"

"Up to you to find out."

"I beg your pardon?" Wyatt was taken aback, staring in chock at Clarence. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because this is your new destiny, Wyatt. When you changed Chris's death, you changed his life, and yours. You changed everything the two of you were, despite the best of intentions. You changed your purpose in life."

"And totally screwed up his." He grumbled sorrowfully. "This is the third time around, damn it! Isn't third time supposed to be the charm?"

And Clarence gave him the most piercing look before he said, "Good things don't always come in three's Wyatt," with such a sternness and seriousness that Wyatt had the feeling he was trying to convey a much deeper meaning than the word's immediate sound.

"OK, you know what? I'm sick of crypticism. I'm sick of runaround clues, halfassed answers and more dead ends than solutions! I'm starting to feel like that chick from _Labyrinth!_ So how bout you just tell me what the hell I need to do to fix this whole damned thing?"

"You're lucky we're not on the mortal plane anymore, Wyatt, or your maniacal screams would earn you a spot in the next bed!" seeing that his humor was less than appreciated, Clarence coughed awkwardly and went on. "Erm, right. Anyway, welcome to the ghostly plane, Wyatt."

"The...ghostly plane? Why do I not like the sound of that?" Wyatt grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's not as bad as it sounds, son," the angel reassured. "I intentionally brought you two here. It's a place with less solid dimensional barriers. This plane, the one between life and death, is the only psychical plane in which all worlds intertwine. Every person, no matter what world they lived in, will come here when they die."

"Like an interdimesnsional transfer bus."

"Rather, yes." He conceded. "My point is, tis is the world where the rules of logic, reason and continuity are the weakest. This room looks like Chris's hospital room to you, but if someone died in a hit and run in another world, on a road that coincided with this room, they would see the highway. You would interact with them on a very straightforward way, but neither of you would see the same thing."

"Ok, point?"

"Patience, Halliwell." My point is, there are thousands, millions of worlds, too many to know about. Not just parallel universes, but parallel timelines. When someone travels back in time, they are not actually doubling back on their own time. Instead, they are returning to the very original timeline, and creating their own pocket universe, running directly along their own until the point of change. It doesn't matter how small the change is; you could kick a rock across the street and create a whole new dimension."

"Ok, that makes no sense!" Wyatt protested, ready to give his soul for morphine. "If traveling back in time is actually going back and creating another world, then how can…how can…Oh, I don't even know where to start."

"Let me try again," he offered amiably. " Imagine your computer as the universe, the entire universe, holding all the worlds within it. The files on your computer is each separate dimension. Imagine if you wrote a story on the computer. And you saved it as Story One. Now, imagine copying and pasting that story into a whole new document, but tweaking one little word. If you change so much as one letter, and then try to leave, what's going to happen?"

"The processor will prompt you to save the changes as a new document," Wyatt said slowly, starting to understand.

"That's right. So now you have two stories, almost completely identical, but with one little change. Now, if you changed a whole sentence, a whole paragraph, you couldn't just leave it like that, or your story would make no sense. So you have to change more. Those changes lead to more changes, and more, and so on. Before you know it, you have 30 different stories, so many that you can't keep them straight. And sometimes, you get them mixed up. Even the ultimate universe of your computer mixes them up, because they're all running at once. You may get two windows trying to open at once, files mixing up. THAT'S the universe, Wyatt! Thousands of files, each containing dozens of versions of the same story."

Wyatt ran this through is own internal computer, sorting like a processor. "Ok…I think I get it. But I still don't get what the point is."

"The ghostly plan is the motherboard, Wyatt, where everything merges and comes together. You can get to any world you can imagine through this dimension, once you figure out how. I'm telling you this, Wyatt, so you can use it."

"Use it for what?"

"As one last chance to give you and your brother the life you deserve."

"The life we deserve…"

"Look at your brother, Wyatt," he prompted gently, and Wyatt did. "What do you see?"

"What do I see?" Chris sat in bed, content with playing with his lion. "I see Chris, but he isn't the brother I grew up with."

"He isn't." Clarence said bluntly. "He was brought up in a way no child should be. You tried, Wyatt, with the best of intentions, to make life better for him-"

"But it didn't work."

Eyes still locked on Chris, Clarence shook his head. "No, it didn't. But you can still try."

Wyatt looked at Clarence with exasperation. "But, Gideon said Chris's soul was marked, scarred for life, that no matter what we did-"

"Gideon's nothing but an Elder, and the knowledge of an Elder isn't as expansive as they would like to think." He snorted, almost contemptuously. "I've been around a hell of a lot longer than any living Elder, and consider myself something of an expert at dimension hopping."

"Ok, so give it to me straight forward- how am I suppose to fix this mess?"

"Like I told you, the ghostly plane is the best way to get through to other worlds. Once you figure it out, you are free to move within any of your worlds, all of your worlds, to collect your story. Read all your files, so to speak."

"And what am I suppose to do with that?"

"Again. That is for you to figure out." Clarence seemed to take pleasure in his distraught expression. "All I can say is, you need to use everything you saw, everything you learned, to decide what needs to be done. I can help you only in one way, by giving you a fair start, a point in the right direction"

Wyatt said nothing, but steepled his fingers studying the tiled floors in contemplation. Traveling all his timelines, seeing all that's happened, and decided the best way to change things? Painfully confusing, tantalizingly easy…

"Are you ready?"

Wyatt jumped after such a long silence, then stared at death aghast.

"What? You mean, I have to start now?"

"Would you rather wait for a holiday weekend?" Clarence quipped lightly.

"No! God no, but…but I still don't really understand…how am I suppose to get to different worlds? Just click my red glittery heals together and hope I end up in California? And what am I suppose to do with Chris?"

"Why, take him with you, of course!" he replied. "He's a little…different, but perfectly capable of traveling with you. And besides, you might even find him a help."

Wyatt looked at his brother with skepticism. A help? He was in the psych ward. He had no idea what the hell had put him there. How the hell was he suppose to be a help?

"It's like I said, Wyatt," Clarence piped up. "Good things don't always come in three's."

Before Wyatt could continue his overwhelmed interrogation, an all too familiar feeling overwhelmed him, the F5 tornado wind engulfed the room, blowing the drawings off the wall, bedding whipped against the occupants and he couldn't see a damned thing.

Somehow in the magical storm he managed to find hold of Chris's hand, clenching it tight enough hat he was sure it hurt. He heard him cry out, whether in pain or fear, he didn't know.

As the rom dissolved around him, as he felt himself and Chris going to God knows where, he heard Clarence's voice following him, ominously reminiscent of Gideon, but his message was not the bleak threat that Gideon's held. Instead, it merely boggled Wyatt's fogged mind, and he struggled to process one final clue-

"Good things don't always come in three's, Wyatt. Sometimes…they come in two's."

CPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPHCPH

Well. That's it. I did it. I can't believe I actually did it. Almost 3 years after I started, I have finally finished Destined to Die!

This ending is nothing like the ending I originally had in mind when I first started this story. Nothing at all. Perhaps along with the SEQUAL, I will write that original bonus ending.

If the time explanations were somewhat confusing, don't worry; I'll elaborate in the future.

Thank you to all of my reviewers, from my first to my last. Thank you JessieBee185, SparklingCherries, And everyone else! I can't believe it's done!

Lottsa love,

LLC


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